Black fine line script tattoo reading Let it be, with a looping capital L, on the inner wrist in a black and white photo.

Let it be script on the wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small black script tattoo reading Let it be sits on the inner wrist, with a large looping capital L and a thin ringed flourish above the text. The linework is fine and even, with the lettering set on a slight diagonal running down towards the hand. The photograph is black and white, so no colour is visible, and the blurred background places the focus on the tattoo.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Let it be Script Text Loop Wrist

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bus to Barstow had been gone twenty minutes when Nell finally admitted the car was dead for good. She sat on the cracked tailgate of the pickup with her boots in the sand and watched the heat lift off the asphalt in slow sheets. Her brother was somewhere ahead with the spare fuel and his bad temper, and she had decided, somewhere around the third mile marker, that she would not chase him.

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A rancher's truck pulled up before the sun got any higher, a woman with a sun-bleached plait driving and a dog with one ear sitting upright on the bench seat. Nell's bag went into the bed without discussion. The woman said her name was Ruth and that the garage in Amboy was shut until Tuesday, so they would go to the diner instead and sort the rest out over pie. Nell asked what kind of pie. Ruth said whatever the cook had got bored of making.

The diner smelled of burnt coffee and rain that never came. Nell wrote a postcard she had no stamp for, then a shorter note to her brother that she tore up, then a list of the things she had brought and the things she had left in the flat on Tennyson Road. The list was mostly fine. The last line she wrote and then crossed out was the one about the spare key, which she had meant to give back. Ruth folded the paper into a napkin and slid it across the counter as if it were the bill.

When the truck finally rolled into Amboy at dusk, the sky had gone the colour of weak tea and the motel sign flickered on half a word. Nell stood in the car park and read the sign twice. Then she laughed, once, and let the rest of the road take her where it wanted.