Black fine line tattoo of media playback symbols, rewind, pause, play, fast forward and a curved arrow, across the wrist in a black and white photo.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Media playback symbols on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a row of media playback symbols: a double rewind arrow, two pause bars, a play triangle, a double fast forward arrow and a curved arrow at the end. The linework is crisp and thin with solid black fills on the triangles, and it runs diagonally across the inner wrist. The photograph is black and white against a dark background, with the skin lit softly from one side.

Fine line Forearm Arrow

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down before that wind takes your hat, and mind the crate, it's the only seat left that doesn't rock. You asked why the old estate car never left this forecourt, and I'll tell you, it's the tape deck. Harold Pike bought it off a salesman in Lisbon for forty quid and a bottle of sherry, and he swore by it until the day the dust got into his chest.

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The deck had five buttons, and Harold gave each one a job. Rewind was for the bad years, when he went back over the arguments with his father to see where he could have held his tongue. Pause was for supper, when his sister Mags needed a breath before the next story. Play was the good stretch, the Sunday hymns with the kettle whistling underneath. Fast forward he never touched, not once, because he said a man should not hurry his own sister.

The last button was the curled arrow, the one that goes round like a dog after its tail. Loop, he called it. Set the tape to it and the thing starts over from the top the moment it runs out, and nobody has to get up and turn it. He pressed it the night before he drove east for the last time, and he left the tape playing in the car.

When the trooper found the estate car out past the salt flats, the cassette was still turning and the speakers were saying good morning, Mags, good morning, Mags, over and over, the way she used to say it at the window. Harold never did learn to hurry. Take your hat, love, the wind's getting up.