Moonlit London street on upper arm
Realism · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo
The tattoo shows a moon behind clouds above a narrow street lined with old buildings, with a tall clock tower on the right. A figure in a top hat, long coat and skirt-like cloak walks away from the viewer, holding a cane. The work uses fine, detailed shading in greys and black, with strong tonal contrast in the sky and buildings and a wide composition that wraps across the upper arm and shoulder.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The clock over the bell tower said ten to four, which meant the ovens had been lit for an hour and Ruth would already be swearing at the proving trays. Tobias kept to the middle of the cobbles, where the lamp post's cold glass threw no shadow, and leaned on his cane each time the wet stone tilted under him. His knee had been bad since February, but the cane was his father's, blackthorn with a brass ferrule, and he would sooner fall than be seen without it on the Bethnal Green walk.
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The moon had slipped out from behind the chimneys and laid its flat light along the gutters, so every puddle held a second moon. He stepped around them out of a kind of courtesy. A cat watched him from the sill of a shuttered tailor's, unimpressed. Somewhere behind a window a radio was playing the shipping forecast to nobody, and he found himself murmuring Dogger, Fisher, German Bight under his breath as he walked, the way his father used to when the boats were late.
Ruth had the back door open and flour to her elbows. "You're early," she said, which was how she said good morning. He set the cane against the rack and took the first tray from her without a word. The dough had risen into a soft, pale dome, and he scored it with a single curved cut, a crescent that opened as the loaf took the heat. "Too early for moons," Ruth said, but she left it in the window where the street could see it. Outside, the clouds closed over again, and the lane went back to being only a lane.
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