Fine line drawing on white paper of the words PIZZA NEVER DISAPPOINTS arched around a pizza slice, drawn in black ink with a fine liner pen beside it.

Pizza never disappoints slice design

Fine line · Black and grey · Flash

A hand-drawn tattoo design on white paper reads PIZZA NEVER DISAPPOINTS, with the upper and lower lines of lettering curved around a central pizza slice. The slice is outlined in fine black linework with small dots for pepperoni or toppings and light cross-hatching for texture. The design is in black ink only, shown in a centred composition with a black fine liner pen resting at the lower right.

Fine line Lettering Pizza Pizza slice Slogan Text Food

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The wind had been at the shutters for three days when the Dunmore boy climbed the hill to Morag's door and asked whether she had anything hot. She had flour, a jar of tinned tomatoes that had survived two winters, and a cheese the goats would not have touched. She also had a rumour, carried over on the last boat, that a man in the city had put red sauce on bread and called it a supper.

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Morag rolled the dough thin as a sail and spread the tomatoes with the back of a spoon, the way her mother had salted fish. She scattered the last of the cheese and, because the boy was watching with the face of a child who expects to be let down, she pressed in three black olives, one for each rock off the north point. The oven blistered the crust in patches. She cut the round into eight with the knife she used for mackerel and set it on a tin plate.

The boy ate the first wedge standing up and said nothing, which on Carrow was the highest praise. He ate the second on the step with his boots off. By the third he had gone quiet, the way people do when their father is out past the point in weather like this, and Morag saw that he wanted to be somewhere with warmth and no waiting. She wrapped the last two slices in waxed paper and put them in his coat.

His father came in at dawn, grey with salt, and found the paper folded on the table with a note in the boy's careful capitals: PIZZA NEVER DISAPPOINTS. Nobody on the island had taught him that word. The father read it twice and laughed until he coughed. Morag baked for him every Thursday after that, and never once took the olives off.