Two forearms held side by side, each with black serif lettering tattooed along the inner arm, forming part of a quote.

Matching lettering tattoos on two forearms

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two arms are pressed together, each showing a line of black serif lettering tattooed along the forearm. The text is partly visible, with one line on the left arm and a shorter line on the right arm. The ink is solid black with clean edges and no visible colour, and the soft, warm-toned photo has a shallow focus that keeps the lettering as the main point of interest.

Lettering Forearm Text Quote Script Couple

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The band at the Winter Palais has given up on the quickstep and drifted into something slow, and you stand by the cloakroom with a paper cup of lemonade going warm in your hand. Marjorie from the chemist's keeps telling you that a man who studies the floor this long is either shy or married. You tell her neither. You are waiting for Ronnie Hale to come back in from the pavement, where he has gone to finish a cigarette he swore he'd given up, and he has been out there far longer than a cigarette takes.

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When he does come back, his collar is turned up against the sea wind and his cheeks are red. He doesn't twist a cap in his hands the way his mother would have wanted. He just holds out his arm, the way the lads do in films, and when you take it his shirt cuff slides back and there is the line he had done at Pike's parlour on the Harbour Road, black and neat as a schoolbook copy. Two halves of a sentence, with his half already on his skin. He says the rest is waiting on your arm, which is a daft thing to say to a girl he met at the bus stop three weeks ago, and you laugh so loudly the bandleader looks round.

You go to Pike's the following Saturday with a shilling in your glove and a stubborn set to your jaw. The needle hums and stings, and you count the cracks in the ceiling tiles to keep from flinching. When it's done you lift your arm to the lamp and read the words aloud, then surely we, and Mr Pike says that's the best sort of sentence, the kind that needs someone else to finish it.

Forty years of Saturday nights have worn both lines soft at the edges. Still, when the slow number starts and he draws you in, the two arms press together and the words meet in the middle, and you both know exactly how the sentence ends.