Small colour tattoos of a cupcake, a chocolate cake slice, a strawberry tart and another cupcake on the fingers and thumb of a hand.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Dessert tattoos across the fingers

Hand · Colour · Photo

A hand held up towards the camera shows four small tattoos of desserts, one on each of the four fingers and one on the thumb side of the palm. The designs include a cupcake with pink frosting and a cherry, a layered chocolate cake slice, a strawberry tart and a cupcake with a cherry on top. The linework is fine and dark, with flat fills in pink, blue, brown, red and yellow on a plain pale background.

Hand Cupcake Strawberry Cherry Food

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The buffet at Harcombe Junction had one glass cabinet and a lid that would not stay up, so every morning I propped it with a rolled timetable and set out the day's bakes. Cupcakes in blue paper cases, a chocolate slice I cut with a knife warmed under the tap, two strawberry tarts Mrs Okafor carried in from her kitchen wrapped in tea towels. Nobody ever bought the pink cupcake first, though it was the one people stopped to look at, its frosting piped into a soft swirl with a single cherry balanced on top like a dare.

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A young woman came through most weekdays on the 7.14, waiting on the platform bench for the connection that was always late. She didn't buy much. She sat at the counter with a paper napkin and a biro and drew whatever was in the cabinet, a little bigger than life, then folded it into quarters and left it under the sugar pot. By the second week I had a stack of them. The yellow cupcake with its cherry, the cake slice with its brown layers, the tart with its neat ring of strawberries, all in blue biro and then coloured in with the dregs of the tea-stained crayons the children left behind.

On the Friday the signal failed at half six and the whole line went quiet. I stood in the empty buffet with the lid propped up and the lights humming, and I found the napkins still under the sugar pot, every one of them, with a note on top in careful capitals: TELL MRS OKAFOR THE TART IS THE ONE I'M KEEPING. I never did see her again. But the next morning there was a fresh napkin tucked under the cabinet lip, and on it, drawn very small, a cherry perched on a cupcake, as though the whole counter had shrunk to fit on a fingertip.