Shirtless man with a black tribal pattern tattoo across his shoulder and chest, with a smaller spiked band along his side above the waistband of his jeans.

Black tribal chest and shoulder piece

Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

A muscular, shirtless man in a sepia-toned studio shot against a black background. A bold black tribal design with spiked, triangular points and chevron-filled bands wraps over the shoulder and across the upper chest, with a second, narrower spiked piece on the side of the torso near the ribs. The solid black linework and fine geometric shading give the design a strong, graphic look.

Shoulder Chest Ribs Tribal pattern Spike Chevron Triangle Geometric pattern

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lift at Keld House stopped answering its buttons the winter the sun got stuck on the thirtieth floor. Everyone agreed it was the sun, because nobody else would climb thirty flights with a shopping bag to look at a sunset. Mrs Abara in flat 31 said it had come down the stairwell in the morning, the way it always did, lost its way among the concrete points on the roof, and simply stayed.

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Sammy Pryce, who was eleven and owed his gran a favour, was sent up with a sack and a bread knife. He found the sun sitting on the landing like a cat on a warm radiator, its rays spiking out in black triangles that scraped the walls. It asked him plainly what he wanted. He said he wanted the lift working so his gran could get to bingo. The sun said the lift was only a box, and the box was only as tall as the people who used it.

So the sun told him to climb to the roof and take the spiked crown off the parapet, the one the builders had set there to keep the pigeons off. Sammy carried it down one point at a time, counting the chevrons as he went so he would not lose his place. At the bottom the sun took the crown, fitted it back over its own brow, and walked out through the lobby doors into the car park.

The lift has worked ever since. Sammy, grown and living two floors below his gran, says the sun still comes up the stairwell on wet afternoons to check the spikes are straight. On clear evenings the thirtieth floor glows along its edges, and from the car park you can see the parapet bare, with a row of gaps where the points used to be.