Tattoo of a DeLorean time machine with red wheel rims on the forearm, drawn with bold black outlines and grey shading.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

DeLorean time machine on a forearm

Forearm · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo shows a DeLorean-style car with gull-wing body panels, exhaust pipes and a rear-mounted time machine unit. Bold black outlines define the bodywork, and grey shading gives the metal panels and windows their volume. Red rims on the wheels are the main colour, set against the grey and black body on a light skin background.

Forearm Car Wheel

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Don't wriggle, Tomas, the wheels only turn if you sit still for the whole of it. Yes, the silver one. My own grandmother saw it come down Hollin Road the year the mill burned. She said it made no sound at all, only a hum you felt in your back teeth, and the hazel either side of the lane bent away from it as if it had somewhere better to be.

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It had gull wings that lifted like a bird settling its feathers, and at the back a grey box bristling with pipes that breathed out blue smoke. Nobody in Ashgrove had seen rims that red. The baker's boy ran alongside until his lungs gave out, and the driver, a woman in a coat the colour of wet slate, stopped under the old oak by the stile and asked him, very politely, what year it was. He told her. She shut her eyes, said, 'Then I'm early, and that's no good to anyone,' and asked for a bucket of well water to cool the box.

They gave her two buckets and a loaf, because that was manners then. She poured the water into the grey box, the pipes hissed like a kettle, and she climbed in under those gull wings without a word of thanks. The baker's boy said afterwards that the lane lit up white for a moment, and the mud took the wheel marks and kept them, red-ringed, running the wrong way, back towards the stile.

The mill was standing the next morning, roof whole, not a black beam on it. My grandmother never could say whether the fire had been stopped or simply never started, and the baker's boy, when he was old and cross, would only tap the side of his nose. So if you hear a hum in the hazel tonight, Tomas, sit tight, keep your teeth together, and mind which way the tracks are running.