Close-up of a fine black lettering tattoo reading 51°30'26"N 0°7'39"W in a single line across the upper chest below the collarbone.

Coordinates tattoo on the upper chest

Lettering · Chest · Black and grey · Photo

A single line of black numerals and symbols reads 51°30'26"N 0°7'39"W, set horizontally across the upper chest just below the collarbone. The lettering is a clean, even serif-style face with crisp, consistent strokes and no shading. The image is a close, slightly angled photo against pale skin and a light background, with the tattoo centred in the frame.

Lettering Chest Coordinates Number Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Margaret had worked the left-luggage window at Charing Cross for nineteen years, and in that time she had handed back umbrellas, a cello, two tortoises and a wedding cake, but never a postcard with nothing on it but numbers. It arrived on a wet Tuesday in March, unstamped, pushed under the grille by a boy who ran before she could ask him anything. On the back, in pencil pressed hard enough to dent the card, was 51°30'26"N 0°7'39"W. Nothing else.

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She knew the figures, of course. Everyone in the building knew them, because the station sat a stone's throw from the spot they pointed to, and the pigeons on the square did not care what you called it. Her first thought was a bad joke from Dennis on the platform. Her second was that the handwriting looked like her brother's, and her brother had stopped writing eleven years ago.

At the end of her shift she walked out through the arch and across the road, the rain thinning to a drizzle. The bronze lions were wet and the fountains switched off for the season. She stood where the numbers said to stand, beside the plinth of a grey admiral, and waited with her hands in her coat pockets, feeling foolish.

A man in a flat cap came round the base of the column carrying two paper cups of tea, and he held one out to her without a word. "You always were hopeless with addresses," her brother said. "Took me four days to work out that the square was the easy part." She took the tea, and the rain stopped the way London rain sometimes does, all at once, as if someone had decided it was enough.