Black handwritten script reading Our Moment with a loose heart beneath it, drawn as a tattoo design on a white background.

Our Moment script with heart design

Lettering · Black and grey · Flash

A handwritten script reads "Our Moment" in black ink on a plain white background, with a looping heart drawn beneath the lettering. The strokes are a consistent, slightly varied monoline with a brush-pen feel, and a single trailing line extends from the bottom of the heart. The image is a flat, greyscale design with no shading and centred composition.

Lettering Script Heart Handwriting

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dougie Marsh had lettered forty-odd shop windows along Tanner Lane and never once been asked for anything so soft. The order slip, in the landlady's looping biro, said only: window, Friday, two lines, OUR MOMENT, and beneath that a heart with its bottom point left trailing, as if she had drawn it without lifting the pen. Give him a sale sign and he knew where he stood.

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He worked after closing, when the street went orange under the sodium lamps and the last cab idled at the rank with its meter dark. The Lantern Room was shutting for good after thirty-one years, the building sold to people who would turn the upstairs into flats. Ruth Okafor sat on a bar stool with a flask of tea and watched him mix the size. She wanted the words where regulars would see them on their way to nowhere in particular, and she wanted them without any apology.

He used a number two sable and gold leaf, though the leaf was only for the capitals. The O went on in one pull. The M took three goes before it sat right. When he reached the heart his hand wavered, and Ruth said, "Take your time, love. It's the only thing on the glass that isn't for sale." He drew the loop, then lifted the brush and let the last stroke fall past the point, a thin line that ran down the pane and stopped in a bead of paint just above the sill.

In the morning the bar was dark, but a woman with a pushchair stopped on the pavement and read the window out loud. A man in a hi-vis jacket read it too, slower, then carried on towards the bus stop. Dougie came back at noon to peel the masking tape from the corners. The trailing line had dried exactly where it had landed, a little short of the sill, still going somewhere.