Fine line black tattoo of an outlined hand reaching down above the words HUG LIFE and an underline, on the side of the ribs.

Outlined hand and HUG LIFE on the ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A single-line outline of a hand, with fingers loosely curled, sits above the words HUG LIFE written in a hand-lettered print and a short underline. The linework is thin, even and black, with no shading or fill. The tattoo is shown in close, straight-on framing on pale skin, with a striped fabric edge visible at the sides of the frame.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The last bus of the night was empty except for a boy asleep against the window and a woman with a cello case wedged between her knees. Gwen Pardoe had driven the 214 for twenty-six years and knew every stop by the sound its brakes made. At the top of Holderness Road, where the shelter had lost its glass, she pulled in and waited for the rain to thin.

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Nobody had asked her to do the thing with her hand. It started the winter her husband went into the Royal and she came off shift to a house too quiet to sleep in. On the early run she lifted her palm from the wheel to anyone who looked up, and most of them didn't look up. Then Mr Okafor, who sold newspapers from a stall outside the station, began lifting his back. Then the schoolgirls. The depot sent a memo about hands on wheels, and she kept doing it anyway.

The turn came on a Thursday in March. A man in a grey coat got on at the hospital stop, sat at the front and held his ticket as if it might blow away. At the end of the route she found him still there, staring at the blank screen above the door. She didn't say anything. She opened her hand, fingers loose, and held it out in the dark between the seats, the way you'd offer a biscuit to a nervous horse.

He took it. When the bus had emptied and the depot lights clicked on, she found a paper ticket folded in her cap pocket, creased into a small square, with four words in biro: thank you, Gwen. She put it in the glovebox beside the spare fuse and her husband's photograph. On the next run, hands back on the wheel, she lifted one for the first passenger who looked up.

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