Black and grey lettering tattoo reading I found my life when i laid it down across the inner forearm.

Quote lettering across an inner forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white photograph of an inner forearm bearing a three-line quotation in a bold typewriter-style font, reading I found my life when i laid it down. The letters are solid black with even, crisp edges and little shading, and the lines are slightly staggered and centred across the arm. The plain light skin and soft background keep the focus on the text.

Lettering Forearm Quote Text Word

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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

Right, you'll want the proper version, not the one Dot tells at the Christmas do. The laundry at Harbour Row had a mangle that took two men to turn, and the summer I was nineteen I was the one feeding sheets through it for Mrs Pargeter, who paid in cash and tea. Every evening I walked the long way home along the breakwater, past the lifeboat shed, because the sea there was the colour of pewter and it made me feel I was going somewhere.

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Then the Ashby boy came back from the trawlers with a hand wrapped in oilcloth and a face like paper, and he sat on the step outside the wash-house and asked me to read him the notice from the harbour master. It was about a berth he'd lost, and he couldn't see the typing for the glare. So I read it out, every word, in my flat Harbour Row voice, and when I'd finished he said, quiet as anything, that he'd been carrying the thing around in his head for a fortnight like a wet coat. I said he could hang it up, then, and he laughed, and that was how it started with us.

We were married in the October, in the chapel with the cracked window. I don't know what I expected. Quieter, maybe. But he taught me to sit still in a small boat and let the tide do the arguing, and I taught him that a sentence can be a door if you let it swing both ways. When I finally got the words inked on his arm, in that plain typewriter face he liked, he looked at them a long while in the mirror of the shop window. Then he pulled his sleeve down over them and said, well, that's the job done, and went to put the kettle on.