Three-view photo of a full arm sleeve in neo-trad comic book style showing the Joker, Batman, and HA HA and BANG lettering on the upper arm and forearm.

Batman and Joker comic book arm sleeve

Neo-trad · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A full arm sleeve shown from three angles, depicting a comic book scene with the Joker grinning and holding a camera, a Batman figure on the forearm, and a woman with glasses lower down. Bold outlines and painted shading give the panels a comic page look, with speech-bubble style HA HA and BANG lettering in yellow, orange and red. Purple, green and yellow ink sit alongside grey shading across the arm, set against a plain white top and an indoor background.

Neo-trad Upper arm Forearm Batman Joker Sleeve Camera Speech bubble Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Marjorie, you will not believe what the Gotham Herald paid me to do last Thursday, and I am still shaking from it. The assignment was simple enough: stand on the cold roof of the Pemberton Building with a Graflex and wait for the bat to come out. Nobody mentioned the clown. He was already up there when I climbed the fire stair, perched on the parapet in his violet gloves, humming something from a music hall and flicking the lens cap off my camera like a boy with a conker.

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"Smile, sweetheart," he said, and I did, because my hands had stopped working. He took the camera off me, turned it round, and pressed his own face against the viewfinder. Then he laughed, that wide red grin going all the way up to his ears, and the sound bounced off the chimney pots and came back at me from three streets away. Ha, ha, ha, ha. I swear the neon sign across the road blinked in time with him.

That was when the roof lit up. A shape dropped from the dark like a folded umbrella, black cape snapping, and landed on the gravel with a sound I still feel in my teeth. Bang, went the clown's little cap gun, and the bat-man was off in a blur of grey and blue, and the two of them were away over the rooftops, and I was left holding a camera with no film in it. Every frame, Marjorie. Every single one was pointing at the moon.

I went back to the office with nothing but a cracked lens and a story no editor will print. Mr Haskins only shrugged and said the city keeps its own pictures. Tomorrow I am buying a new lens, and I am never, ever going up a fire stair again. Your loving sister, Dot.