Neo-trad style colour tattoo on an upper arm and shoulder, showing the Joker's face with green hair, a yellow and black Batman logo and red lettering reading the Joker.

Joker and Batman logo on upper arm

Neo-trad · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A large sleeve-style tattoo covers the upper arm and shoulder, centred on a grey and green-haired Joker face with a wide red grin. A yellow and black Batman logo sits above, surrounded by repeated HAHA lettering in grey, and red script at the lower edge reads the Joker. The linework is bold with grey shading and selective colour, and the photo is taken indoors against a green wall with a blurred person in the background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The laugh gets on the number nine before the man does. It rolls up the steps ahead of him, bouncing off the chrome rails and the wet lino, and by the time you have pulled the doors shut at Crane Street he is sitting at the back with his feet up on the seat in front, grinning at the black window as if someone in the glass has just told him a joke.

Keep reading

You know the type. Every route in this city has one after midnight: the drunk, the poet, the man who wants to talk about the moon. This one has a face like a wedding cake left out in the rain, grey on the cheeks, green hair sprung out from under a purple hat that somebody has clearly lifted from a shop window. He dabs a yellow handkerchief at his mouth and says, 'Evening, driver. Do you think this city has ever been funny?' You tell him the fare is two pounds forty. He laughs until the fare box rattles.

At Harbour Road he doesn't get off. He leans forward and sets a folded card on the dashboard, its corner printed with a black bat shape edged in yellow, and beneath it in red capitals: YOU WERE NEVER THE PUNCHLINE. You look up. The street is empty except for a cloud shaped like the bat sliding over the spire of Bellwether Hall, and when you check the back seat there is only the handkerchief, folded into a neat square, still faintly warm.

You drive the rest of the route with the radio off. At the depot you find the card in your coat pocket, the red letters smudged where your thumb has been, and you laugh once, quietly, because the wipers keep time and nobody else is awake to hear it.

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