Two matching black linework tattoos of bridges, one on each forearm, drawn in a loose sketch style with thin lines and light shading.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Matching bridge sketches on forearms

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two forearms show mirrored tattoos of bridges drawn in black ink. The left arm has a suspension bridge with arched towers and diagonal cables, and the right arm has a bridge with tall stone-like towers and cables running across the top. The loose, sketchy linework has thin lines and light hatching, with a few stray lines extending beyond the outlines, and the design is in black and grey ink only.

Fine line Forearm Bridge Tower Cable Sketch Skyline

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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

Sit down, sit down, you're letting the draught in. No, the good chair, the one with the springs still in it. You want to know why there are two bridges on the back of the boarding-house ledger, and I'll tell you, but you'll have to put up with the sea, because the sea always gets in the way of a proper story.

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My aunt Mabel kept this house before me, and her brother Tom worked the lamp on the far side of Saltwick Reach. Before the iron bridge went up in 1911 they'd row across to see each other on Sundays. After it went up, they could see each other every evening from their windows, one on the north bank, one on the south, and they took to sketching whatever the other had in view. Tom sent his drawings over by the milk cart, and Mabel sent hers back by the same cart, so the two of them spent forty winters arguing about the cables with a pencil and a bad-tempered boy for a courier.

Then came the March gale. The cart didn't come for nine days, and when it did, the driver said the north tower had been dark since the Tuesday. Mabel didn't wait for anyone's permission. She sat at this very window and drew the far tower the way she'd always drawn it, except that she let her pencil run off the edge of the paper and didn't lift it back. She said the line was the wind, and the wind had to go somewhere.

That's the drawing that went across the water. The reply came back a fortnight later, in Tom's hand, mirrored right down to the stray lines. He'd drawn her bridge from his side, the lamp still lit in the corner of the page.

So that's your answer. Mind the third step on your way out, it's been loose since the war.