Fine line black tattoo of a lemon wedge on the inner upper arm, with segments drawn in simple outline.

Lemon wedge on the upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A small outline tattoo of a lemon wedge sits on the inner upper arm of a pale-skinned person, shown in close crop against a dark background and a yellow fabric sleeve. The linework is thin and even, with the segments shaded by short internal strokes and the rind edge given light stippled texture. The design is in black ink only and sits centred in the frame, leaving plenty of bare skin around it.

Fine line Upper arm Fruit

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The 6.14 is nineteen minutes late, and the departure board has given up pretending otherwise. You stand at the buffet hatch of Ashby Road station with a cup of tea gone lukewarm, watching Mrs Okonedo slice a lemon on a chopping board worn grey with use. She cuts it in half, then into wedges, each one fanned open like a small sunburst, and she doesn't look up when she says you may as well have one, they're going off by Friday anyway.

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You take the wedge because refusing seems ruder than accepting. It sits on the saucer beside a biscuit wrapper. The pale rind has a ridge of tiny dots where the peel is rough, and the segments lean toward the centre like the spokes of a bicycle wheel someone has stopped turning. Across the platform a man in a good coat reads a letter twice, folds it, unfolds it, as though the words might rearrange themselves if he waits.

When the train finally slides in, you squeeze the wedge over your tea and the smell rises sharp enough to make your eyes water. Mrs Okonedo laughs and says that's the only way to wake up a Tuesday. You carry the cup down the steps to carriage C, and the bright sourness hangs in the air of the compartment all the way past the flooded fields to the next town.