Two forearm tattoos: the word geronimo above a brown bow tie, and the words Allons-y above a pair of red and blue 3D glasses with small stars.

Geronimo bow tie and Allons-y 3D glasses tattoos

Lettering · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

The image is a stacked pair of close-up photographs of skin on the forearm. The top tattoo shows the word geronimo in black lettering above a shaded brown bow tie. The lower tattoo shows the words Allons-y in black script beside a pair of 3D glasses with red and cyan lenses, surrounded by small star marks.

Lettering Forearm Bow tie Star Script

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow had buried the road to Wyndle Cross by four o'clock, and by six the only guests left were two brothers from a cattle lorry and a retired projectionist called Hal Mercer, who had come up the valley to see out the winter. He had a cardboard box with him. Inside were forty pairs of 3D glasses, red and cyan lenses gone soft with damp, from the Palace in Thorne, which had shut its doors that October.

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I was nineteen and kept the stove fed and the bar honest. Hal set a pair on the table and said the trick was not to look at the glasses but through them. Then he made us watch the snow falling past the window in the lamplight until the flakes seemed to hang in the room, a foot from our faces. The brothers swore. Hal laughed like a boy and said making rooms seem deeper than they were had been the whole business of his life.

Near midnight the power went, and we lit the lamps with the last of the paraffin. One of the brothers bet he could measure the drift against the back step. Before anyone could stop him he had leapt off into the white with a yell of Geronimo, and we heard him laughing somewhere below the hedge. Hal only tapped his glasses and said it was the sort of thing you did once a winter, if you were lucky.

Hal left in March, when the road cleared, and he left the box. Pinned inside the lid was a note in neat capitals: LENSES ARE FOR SEEING THINGS TWICE. ALLONS-Y, MARGIT. I still keep a pair on the windowsill. I have never worn them to look at the snow. They sit there, red and blue, waiting for a room that is deeper than it looks.