Fine line cursive script reading nothing is permanent, drawn in dark ink across a pale textured background in a four-panel collage.

Nothing is permanent script lettering

Lettering · Black and grey · Flash

The image is a collage of four photographs showing the handwritten phrase nothing is permanent in a flowing cursive script with long connecting strokes. The linework is thin and even, drawn in dark blue-black ink on a pale grey-cream surface that looks like paper or skin. The main panel shows the full phrase across the top, with three close-up panels showing sections of the lettering.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Right, sit on the crate and stop fidgeting, you'll have the dust in your teeth. See that bit of paper? Fourteenth floor, east side, the flat with the blue bathroom tiles. Mick pulled the panel off on Tuesday and there was an envelope wedged behind the cistern pipe, gone soft as a tea towel, and inside it one sheet of lined paper.

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The hand was careful and joined up, the sort they stopped teaching before you were born. It was a letter to somebody called Nora, and it went on about the rent, the lift that smelled of wet cardboard, a lad downstairs who whistled Sinatra in the stairwell. Right at the bottom, underlined twice with a pen that had nearly run dry, it said nothing is permanent. Not a sad line, mind. More like someone telling herself to pack the good cups first.

I read it out on the landing, and the lad from the agency asked if we should send it to the council. I said the council had its own filing system, which is a bin. He asked if she was dead. I said probably, or she'd have come back for her tiles. Then he wanted to know if we should keep it, and I said nothing's permanent, son, and felt daft for saying it like a motto off a biscuit tin.

I folded it along its old creases and slid it into my shirt pocket, behind the pencil stub. Below us the crane swung its jaw slow across the sky, and the whole east side of the block shivered like it had heard its own name.

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