Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Crab outline on a thigh
Fine line · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo
A single crab is drawn in thin black linework, showing its shell, two raised claws, and jointed legs. Shading is minimal, with small areas of darker ink on the eyes and the underside of the shell. The tattoo sits centrally on bare skin, with the crab's body and claws filling most of the frame.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The lift in Calder House had been out since Tuesday, so Dez carried the crab up fourteen floors in a chip shop carrier bag, stopping on every landing to let it settle. The bag dripped at the corners. Somewhere around the ninth floor a man in a dressing gown asked what he had in there, and Dez said his tea, which was not a lie if you counted the sea as a kind of tea. He had found the crab under a slab at Spurn, a shore crab with one claw bigger than the other and an attitude to match.
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Nan's flat smelled of Brasso and boiled cabbage. Dez filled the bath with an inch of tap water, tipped in a fistful of salt from the sachets in the kitchen drawer, and the crab sat in it with its claws up like a boxer who had not been told the round was over. They called it Keith. Nan said Keith was a bad name for anything with that many legs, but she fed it a crust of bread all the same, and she watched it through the bathroom door with her arms folded.
On Thursday the council man came about the damp. He looked at the bath for a long time, then at Dez, then at the window, and said nothing about crabs at all. He just said the lift would be fixed by the weekend, if the parts came. Nan said that was what they always said.
On Saturday the doors opened on the ground floor, and the crab walked out sideways across the lino, past the bins and the notice about dogs, and down the slope into the car park puddle. Keith stopped at the edge, lifted his big claw towards the grey line of the estuary, and went on.
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