Black and grey realism tattoo of an elderly man's face wrapped in a hood, with a pocket watch above the brow, on the shoulder.

Elderly face and pocket watch on shoulder

Realism · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a close, realistic portrait of an elderly man with deep wrinkles, watery eyes and a hood or shawl framing his face, with a pocket watch with Roman numerals set at the top of the head. The shading is smooth and detailed, with strong contrast between highlights and dark recesses, and torn-edged shapes fade into the surrounding skin. The image is a close crop of the shoulder and upper back, with the portrait filling most of the frame against a dark vignette.

Realism Shoulder Face Pocket watch Clock Hood Portrait

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow had closed the pass by four o'clock, and the Hollin Fold coaching inn had nine rooms, one fire that smoked whenever the wind swung north, and me, Agnes Thwaite, pot-girl and clerk, keeping the ledger by candle. The old man came in just after the supper bell. He shook a grey wool hood over the flags, and the footprints he left filled with melt before they could dry.

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He paid in coins older than the King's head on our shillings and asked for the room under the eaves. Then he asked me to set the mantel clock right, for it had stopped at twenty to three. I asked him which hour he meant. He only turned his pocket watch over in his palm, reading the Roman numerals with his thumb, and said, "The hour the snow began to think about it." His eyes were wet at the corners, as though he had been out in the wind a long time.

The coach horn sounded from the lane around midnight, though no coach could have come up that road. In the morning the eaves room was empty, the bed made tight as a drum, and the hood folded square on the chair. The mantel clock was ticking. Beside it lay the pocket watch, face up, its hands creeping backward toward eleven.

I keep that watch in the till drawer now. Each winter, when the drifts climb the lintel, I hear the horn again, and I wind the kitchen clock to match it before I bank the fire.