Close view of a woman in a blue paisley print t-shirt, with a short line of black script tattoo partly visible on her upper arm.

Black script tattoo on upper arm

Lettering · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph focuses on a loose blue t-shirt printed with gold and cream paisley motifs and a hamsa pendant necklace with a stone pendant on a cord. A short line of black script is partly visible on the arm at the lower right edge, cropped by the frame. The tattoo is in black ink only, and the rest of the image is dominated by the blue and gold shirt pattern.

Lettering Upper arm Script Text Hamsa Pendant Necklace Paisley T-shirt

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The oven clicks on at half four, and for an hour the bakery belongs to the dough and to me. Senhora Azevedo taught me that. She said people could wait, but yeast could not, so I mix by hand and ignore the machine Tomé keeps buying spare parts for. Above the proving drawer hangs the tea towel she printed herself, blue cotton with gold paisley, and under the border she stitched a line in black thread: nos fadigas, fé e pão. Fatigue, faith and bread. I used to think it was a joke about the work. It was an instruction.

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Tomé comes in at five with the van keys in his teeth and a grievance about the flour delivery. We argue about crust colour, as we have every morning since March, because she always won those arguments and neither of us has learned how to lose them properly. He wants the loaves paler for the hotels. I want them dark enough to crack under a thumb. We settle on the way she settled everything, by pulling a tray from the oven and letting it cool on the wire between us while neither of us speaks.

The first customer is always the widow from the harbour road, who buys one round loaf and never says thank you, only nods at the towel as if it might answer her. I wrap the bread in paper and tell her the dough rose well. She says it always does when it is done properly. Outside the window the sky is turning the colour of that cloth, a greyed blue with gold flecks where the streetlamps are still burning. I slide the next tray in, close the door on the heat, and listen to the oven start its work.