Black and white photo of a black fine line Bowie logo and italic script tattoo on the inner forearm, with a black lace bra and dark jeans visible beside it.

Bowie logo and script on a forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white photograph of a forearm carrying an outlined Bowie wordmark in a bold, retro logo style, with a thin italic script line running lower down the arm. The linework is clean and even, with no shading, and the lettering is the only element in the frame. The plain white background keeps the focus on the arm.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The wireless in the back parlour of Gull's Rest had only one station that came in clear after dark, and Mrs Thorne would not have it touched. Every evening at nine she set the dial by hand, waited for the hiss to thin, and listened to whatever was passing over the Channel. The lodgers thought it was for the shipping news. It was not. It was for the man who had taken the attic room in March and paid a month ahead in silver.

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He called himself Lightning, though the flash he wore on his brow was only chalk, drawn with the same flat, certain strokes the sign-writer used on the pier. Each night he sat by the window with a pencil and a sheet of paper and copied down the words that came through the static. Ground control, the wireless said, and then a long wash of sea noise, and then a name Mrs Thorne had never heard spoken in Margate.

On the last night of August the attic went quiet. Mrs Thorne climbed the stairs with a candle and found the window open and the paper on the sill, covered in one line written again and again, each copy a little steadier than the last. Beside it lay a silver coin and a note: the signal has reached its place, do not dial it again.

She never did. She kept the coin in the till, the wireless on the shelf above it, and every evening at nine she left the dial alone and listened to the gulls.

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