Traditional style tattoo of a heart-shaped pizza with red pepperoni and dripping yellow cheese, placed on a limb with other tattoos nearby.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pizza heart with pepperoni and dripping cheese

Traditional · Other · Colour · Photo

A heart-shaped pizza with a golden crust, red pepperoni slices and yellow cheese dripping down the bottom sits at the centre of the frame. Bold black outlines and flat, solid fills are used with a little shading along the crust, and the ink is mainly yellow, red and black. Other tattoos in green and teal and a black script word appear at the edges of the photo on a fair-skinned limb.

Traditional Other Pizza Heart Pepperoni Cheese Food

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You inherit Dorothy's van the week her hip goes, along with the rota, a cracked tin of oregano and a rule written on the dashboard in biro: nothing leaves the oven looking sorry for itself. The pit siren sounds at half past ten, and by eleven the Ashby Road is lined with lads who smell of the shaft and want something hot to hold on to.

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On the third Friday a woman in a green anorak hands you a folded napkin with a drawing on it. A heart. Underneath, in careful capitals: MAKE IT LIKE THIS, PLEASE, AND DON'T TELL ARTHUR. You have never made a heart before. You spend twenty minutes pressing dough into a shape that keeps sliding back toward a blob, then lay the pepperoni in a loose ring the way Dorothy taught you to lay out stars on a Sunday. The cheese, overloaded, slips off the bottom point and runs down the side in long gold strands.

Arthur, it turns out, is the foreman's son and works nights on the other face. The woman collects the box at midnight and doesn't open it at the counter. You watch her walk back toward the canteen holding it flat, like a tray. Ten minutes later she is back, flushed, asking for a second one to take home, and a mug of tea she doesn't look like she intends to drink.

The napkin is still in your pocket. You flatten it on the dashboard and notice the heart she drew has a drip on its point too, done in pencil, which you had taken for a smudge. Dorothy's rule comes back to you. You tuck the napkin under the oregano tin, wipe your hands on your apron and start the next batch of dough.