Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Eiffel Tower on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small single-needle style outline of the Eiffel Tower sits on the inner wrist, drawn in thin black linework with a simple, slightly sketchy quality. The tower is shown in profile with its lattice sections suggested by a few lines, and the rest of the skin is plain. The ink is solid black against pale skin, and the framing is close with a blurred wooden background.

Fine line Forearm Eiffel tower

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The generator had packed in again, so the Waltzer stood dark and the whole field smelled of diesel and wet sawdust. Dad sent me round the back of the coconut shy with a torch and a tin of Brasso, because the prize cabinet needed its glass wiping before the evening crowd. Most of it was plush bears and cheap tin toys gone dull with damp, but at the very back, behind a box of unclaimed raffle tickets, sat the tower.

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It was no taller than my thumb, painted the grey of an old pan, and its ironwork was no more than a few quick scratches, as if someone had sketched it on a beer mat and been called away. Nobody had ever won it. Dad said a Frenchman had lost it to him at cards in 1974 and wrote every autumn asking after it, though I suspected he invented the letters to keep the price up. When I asked if I could have it, he said it wasn't ours to give.

We left the field outside Swindon on a Sunday, and by the Monday the cabinet was empty except for that tower. I found it in the cab of the lorry, wrapped in a yellow duster with a ticket stub tucked underneath. One ride, paid in full, dated the night before we packed up. Dad never said who he'd bought it for, and the stub had no name on it, only a tiny pencil drawing of a tower in the corner.

I keep it on the caravan windowsill now. When the sun comes through the back window, the scratched lines throw a shadow across the table, thin and wavering, like something that has only just decided to stay.