Four small cartoon character tattoos in colour and black outline, one on each finger of a hand, showing a fries carton, a tall cup-shaped figure, a round orange face and a bald man with a moustache.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Four cartoon character finger tattoos

Hand · Mixed · Photo

Four small cartoon character tattoos sit side by side across the fingers of one hand, each shown in a bold black outline. The left design is a red fries carton with yellow fries and a scowling face, and the second is a tall cup-shaped figure with a pink cigarette. The third is a round orange face and the fourth is a bald man with a moustache, both in black and grey with little shading. The photograph is taken straight on, so the four designs are evenly framed against the skin.

Hand Cartoon Cup Cigarette Face Moustache Finger Character

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The van died on the Hartsgill pass at twenty past four, which Dougie Pell took personally. He stood in the sleet with the bonnet up while the others sat inside, fogging the windows. Ronnie, a fries carton with a face like a slammed door, was eating the last of the salt and vinegar crisps off the dashboard. Sid, who was tall and cup-shaped and had never once in twenty years admitted to being wrong, had an unlit cigarette tucked in the corner of his mouth because the matches were damp.

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Pip, the orange one, pressed his round face to the glass and asked, 'Is it the fan belt?' in the tone of someone who had never seen a fan belt. Gordon, bald as a bowling ball and moustached like a disappointed bailiff, leaned forward and tapped the gauge. 'Empty,' he said. 'Since Carlisle.' Nobody had checked. Nobody ever checked. That was the arrangement.

Dougie came back in with snow on his shoulders and a red jerrycan he had found under the passenger seat, where it had apparently been all along, labelled in Gordon's handwriting: DO NOT TOUCH. They looked at it. Then they looked at Dougie. Sid lit his cigarette with the last dry match, very slowly, as if the whole thing had been his idea. 'Right,' said Ronnie. 'Who's carrying it up the hill?'

Nobody moved. Then Pip rolled off the seat, bounced once on the tarmac, and started up the road ahead of them, singing the only song he knew. The others followed, because the far side of the pass was a long way down and the sky above it was clearing into something bright and hard and blue.