Fine line black tattoo of a stack of books with the word Escape in script beside it, on the ankle.

Escape lettering and stacked books on the ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A photograph of a tattoo showing a stack of books with pages drawn in thin outlines and light shading. The word Escape is written in a simple script beside the books. The ink is dark blue-black with no colour, and the composition is close up with the skin filling most of the frame.

Fine line Lettering Ankle Book

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The platform clock had stopped at twenty to four, so Ruth took the 3:40 to Preston on trust, the way she had taken most things since the spring. She stood under the canopy with a carrier bag of paperbacks from the church jumble, the rain coming sideways off the tracks, and waited for the stall's shutter to rise. Nobody else was waiting for anything but the rain.

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She had been running the little trolley library since March, when the station cut its newsagent's hours and somebody had to do something with the boxes. The rule was simple: take one, leave one, and no questions about whether the spine had cracked in someone's handbag. Most people took crime. Nobody ever took the travel guides, though they were the ones she had bought for herself at fourteen and never once used.

A lad of about seventeen came to the hatch, hood up, a rucksack hanging off one shoulder. He turned a Stephen King over in his hands and asked, without looking at her, whether it was true that the books were free if you were leaving town. She said they were free if you were reading them. He nodded as if that was an answer he could work with, then put the King back and pointed at an old road atlas with a cracked Ordnance Survey cover.

She wrapped it in brown paper because the rain was getting in, and wrote Escape across the top in biro, because it was the only word she had that fitted. He laughed, properly, for the first time. The 3:40 pulled in with a long sigh of brakes, and he tucked the parcel under his arm and ran for the door without looking back. Ruth watched the carriage windows slide past until the last one was gone, then picked up the carrier bag and started sorting the travel guides into a box marked Keep.