Black lettering tattoo reading Jerk and Bitch on the inside of a wrist, in a script and a bold serif style.

Jerk and Bitch lettering on a wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a hand with black nail polish, showing two lines of lettering on the inner wrist. The top word is in a thin, flowing script and the lower word is in a heavier, bold serif, both with full stops. The ink is solid black with soft edges, and the image is taken against a plain, pale background.

Lettering Forearm Lettering Word Script Wrist Hand

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The surveyor came up the desert road in a white car that had no business out there, and he stopped at Orla Penhallow's pump because the needle showed empty and his manners showed the same. She filled his tank herself. She had done it for forty years and never once let a man do it for her.

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He wanted the land under the pump. A railway was coming, he said, and a railway needed a stop, and a stop needed a town, and a town needed a woman to be sensible about it. He laid his papers on the bonnet. She read every line in the thin, looping hand she kept for church notices and funerals, the way she read everything, and then she folded the pages into a neat square and put them in her apron pocket.

'Sensible,' she said, and the word came out soft as silk. Then she took the cloth from her shoulder and wiped his windscreen until it shone, and she said the other word, the one painted a foot high on the sign above the pump in heavy black letters. Her father had painted it that way, because he believed a word should stand on its own feet and not apologise for itself. The surveyor looked at the sign, then at her, then he turned the car around in the dust and did not look back.

The railway never came through Orla's stretch. It bent thirty miles north to avoid the salt, and the timetable there lists a halt called Penhallow's Pump, and nothing else. Every morning she still stands under the sign with her coffee and reads both words aloud to the empty road, the soft one first and the hard one after, as if the road had asked her to be clear.