Black handwritten lettering reading Chasing the original high across the upper chest, partly shown as a white shirt is pulled aside.

Chasing the original high quote on chest

Lettering · Chest · Black and grey · Photo

A close crop of a person's upper chest and collarbone with the words CHASING THE ORIGINAL HIGH tattooed in slanted, hand-drawn capitals in black ink. The lettering has clean, even linework and sits diagonally across the skin, with the text running from the centre of the chest towards the shoulder. The photograph has a dark background and strong directional light, with the skin tones and a white shirt pulled down by a hand with dark nail polish.

Lettering Chest Text Quote Handwriting

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The brake shoes on the Big Dipper had worn down to nothing, and Frank Latimer was still under the carriage at half past six when the first of the Saturday crowd came through the gate at Hollins Green. His daughter June passed him a spanner without being asked, the way she had since she was eleven and tall enough to reach the bench.

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He had been chasing the first drop for fifteen years. In the summer of 1938, before the war took the lads and the paint went grey, the car had gone over the crest for the first time and his stomach had stayed behind on the track. Every season since, he had raised the hump a foot or pulled the curve tighter, and every season the crowd came back for less of what they had come for. Councillor Dunning had written to the parish council twice about the steepness. Frank had kept both letters in his coat.

That evening he painted the words on the front panel himself, slanting the capitals the way his father had taught him to letter a shop sign: CHASING THE ORIGINAL HIGH. June watched from the tailgate with her cardigan over her knees. "So they know what they're paying for," he said, and she didn't laugh.

The council closed the ride in October. The men came with a flatbed and a chain, and Frank stood by the empty track while they unbolted the last section. June brought him a flask of tea and looked at the painted panel, the letters still wet in the low light. "You never did get it back," she said. He shook his head and took the flask, and they stayed there until the lorry's lamps were the only thing moving across the field.