Black and grey realism tattoo of a man's face partly covered by a paisley bandana, holding a handgun with smoke curling up, on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Bandana-masked portrait with handgun and smoke

Realism · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A realistic portrait of a man with long hair and a paisley bandana covering the lower half of his face, leaving only the eyes visible. His hand grips a handgun at the right edge, with wisps of smoke rising beside it. The shading is smooth and layered, with soft grey tones across the skin, fabric and smoke against the plain background of the photo.

Realism Forearm Portrait Man Bandana Paisley Smoke Hand

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The pawnshop on Tanner Lane had been shut for three days when Ada found the bandana folded inside the till drawer, paisley side up and still stiff with starch. Nobody on the street would say whose it was. Her uncle Silas only said it was bad luck to keep a thing that had once hidden a face, then went back to polishing the brass scales as though the conversation had never happened.

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She kept it anyway. On Thursday, when the rain came sideways off the canal, she tied it over her mouth and stood at the front window, watching the lamplighter work his way toward the bridge. Through the wet glass she saw a man in a grey coat stop beneath the gas lamp and look straight at her, as if he had been expecting someone else. She lowered the cloth. He nodded once and walked on, and she understood that the bandana had been doing the looking, not her.

The revolver lay in the second drawer under a ledger of pledges nobody had ever come back for. Its chambers were empty, the brass caps green at the rims. Ada turned it over in her palm and thought about the men who had pawned it, each swearing it had never fired anything worth remembering. Smoke, she decided, was the only honest thing a gun ever left behind.

On Friday she carried the revolver down to the canal and dropped it in off the footbridge, the bandana folded neatly on the rail beside her. Silas watched from the doorway and said nothing. Behind her the morning mist rose off the water in slow grey coils, and for a while it was hard to tell where the canal ended and the smoke began.