Two people press their inner forearms together, each showing half of a circular fine-line script tattoo that reads follow me and I'll follow you around a small outline motif.

Circular script quote tattoo on two forearms

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two inner forearms are pressed together so that each arm carries half of a circular tattoo. The tattoo is a thin black script that runs around a small outlined motif at the centre, with the phrases joined by small dots. The ink is solid black on pale skin, and the image is shot in a plain indoor setting with a blurred background.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Script Quote Circle Wrist

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit yourself down on that wall, lad, and mind the wet. No, the fog isn't lifting tonight, not with the river breathing like that. Hear me now. Back when gas lamps still ran the length of Bridge Street, there was a lamplighter called Ada Mossop who walked her round with a long pole and a tin of paraffin, and she never once let a light go out before the last tram had creaked home.

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One November the fog came up off the Mersey so thick a man couldn't see his own boots. Ada's brother Tom had gone down the dock shift and not come back at the bell. She took her pole and went looking, and she followed the sound of his whistle, which kept stopping and starting, the way a lost man's does. Somewhere past the chandler's, a pale moth no bigger than a fingernail settled on her lantern glass and wouldn't be shaken off.

Every time she moved on, the moth lifted and went ahead of her a little way, then waited with its wings open, as patient as a dog at a gate. Ada muttered at it the whole length of the quay. Follow me, she told it, and it did, and when she reached the iron bollards the whistle came again, close now, and there was Tom sitting on a coil of rope with his cap in his hands, too cold to stand.

She didn't say a word about the moth. She just held out her lantern and said, Come on, then, and he said, I'll follow you, and off they went, the pair of them, the moth leading the way over the cobbles to the lit end of Bridge Street. Next morning every lamp on the street was burning as if nothing had happened, and Ada was up the ladder with her pole, and nobody ever asked her how she'd found him. Mind your step on those kerbs, lad.