Black lettering in an infinity loop reading live the life you love, shown as a design, as temporary transfers on grass, and as a small fine script tattoo on a woman's upper back.

Infinity loop lettering reading live the life you love

Lettering · Back · Black and grey · Flash

This collage has three panels. The top panel is a black ink drawing of an infinity loop with the words live the life you love in mixed hand-lettered and block styles. The lower left panel shows two temporary tattoo transfers on grass, and the lower right panel shows a small black script version of the quote across a woman's upper back, with her face not visible.

Lettering Back Infinity symbol Quote Script Lettering Temporary tattoo

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The launderette on Oldham Road had been Mrs Dorrigan's since 1971, and at ten past two on a wet Thursday I was still fighting the first loop of her new sign. She wanted the words wrapped round a figure of eight, one half in her late husband's hand-lettering, the other half in plain block capitals because, she said, the machines needed to be read from the bus stop. I had the ox-blood tin open on the pavement and a brush with three good hairs left in it.

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Traffic hissed past. A night bus sighed at the stop and pulled away with nobody on it. I painted LIVE in capitals, then the cursive across the top loop, and stepped back under the sodium light to see whether the two hands agreed. They didn't, not yet. Mrs Dorrigan had told me her husband wrote everything in a looping slant, that he once signed a repair ticket with a curl so long the customer asked if it was a receipt or a love letter.

She came out at half two in her coat over a nightdress, carrying two mugs of tea that had gone cold on the walk. She didn't look at the sign. She looked at the loop, the way you'd follow a finger along a line on a map. "You start at the bottom," she said. "It doesn't matter where you start. It only matters that you keep going round." Then she handed me my mug and told me the lease ended at the end of the month, and this would be the last thing anyone painted on the wall.

I finished the final word just where the brush had begun, so the loop closed without a seam. Mrs Dorrigan read it from the far kerb, nodded once, and went back inside to switch off the drums. The paint was still wet when the first light came up over the chimneys, and the sign shone as if it had been waiting for someone to read it.