Black fine line script reading Party on Wayne with a pair of glasses above it, tattooed on skin at the lower back.

Party on Wayne script with glasses

Lettering · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A black ink tattoo of thin-lined cursive script reading Party on Wayne, with an outline drawing of spectacles above the lettering. The linework is solid and even, with no shading, and the design is shown in a warm, dimly lit close-up of skin.

Lettering Back Glasses Script Quote Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The left arm had snapped clean off at the hinge, and Mrs Pruett wanted it back by Saturday because her grandson's leaving do was at the Working Men's Club and she was not going in her spare pair, the ones with the chain. Dennis turned the frame over under the lamp at his stall in Kirkgate Market, saw the hairline crack in the old solder, and sighed the sigh he saved for people who sat on their glasses. He had the iron hot in four minutes. The thing about soldering spectacles, he told her, was that you had to be patient and a bit cheeky at the same time, and when the joint took he said the thing Callum had taught him from some film on his phone. Party on, Wayne. Mrs Pruett said she had no idea who Wayne was, but she didn't mind being partied on.

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On Saturday the club smelled of fryer oil and Lynx, and Callum's mates had already pushed the tables against the wall. Mrs Pruett arrived in a lilac cardigan with the mended glasses pushed up into her hair, then down onto her nose, then up again, as if she couldn't decide which of them was the lucky one. When the DJ played something she clearly recognised, she marched straight onto the floor and did a dance that involved a great deal of pointing. Callum spotted Dennis by the bar, which he had not expected to be invited to, and bellowed the phrase across the room. Half the club took it up. Dennis raised his pint and felt, absurdly, like the one person in the building who knew the answer to a question nobody had asked.

She found him at the end of the night with her coat already on and a paper bag of chips warm against her chest. She tapped the crooked hinge he had fixed and said, with great seriousness, that the joint hadn't budged once. Then she winked, which he had not thought a woman of seventy-four could still do so well, and said it back to him, slightly wrong, the way you'd say a word in a language you had only just learned.