Realistic colour tattoo of a red muscle car with a dark shadowed background, sitting on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Red muscle car on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A photograph of a realistic tattoo of a red classic muscle car in three-quarter view, showing the front grille, twin headlights, bumper and a licence plate. The car is shaded with smooth gradients and highlights on the bodywork and glass, with dark grey shadowing beneath it and a small smoky effect at the rear wheel. The image is shot close up on the forearm against a dark, blurred background.

Realism Forearm Car Vehicle Smoke

Find an artist for this

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

The coupe came into the yard on a flatbed on the first Tuesday in March, its paint still the red of a postbox that has stood out in the rain for forty years. Mr Ashdown rode up front in the cab and would not let anyone touch the bonnet until he had walked round it twice. He said it had been his brother's, and that it had not been started since the summer of 1979, when the pair of them drove it to the coast and back on one tank of petrol and one long argument.

Keep reading

I fitted new plugs and a set of points, then took it up the lane alone on the Thursday. The engine caught on the third turn of the key. When I leaned on the throttle the back wheel spun, and a grey cloud rolled out from behind the arch and hung over the verge like breath on a cold morning. I stopped the car and sat there with my hands on the wheel, grinning like a fool, while the smoke drifted into the hawthorn.

In the glovebox I found a road atlas folded open to the coast, a receipt from a café in Sandwick for two teas and a bacon roll, and a pencilled note on the back of a bus timetable. It said only, Keep her in second on the hill, she sulks in third. Nothing about the argument, nothing about the brother's name. I tucked the note into my overalls and didn't mention it.

On the Saturday Mr Ashdown came to the door of the workshop in his good coat. I handed him the keys and asked if he wanted it back in the yard. He turned them over in his palm, looked past me at the red paint catching the light, and told me to take it down to the sea once more. I drove it with the window open and the atlas on the passenger seat, and when the road finally bent over the cliffs I dropped it into second, the way the note told me, and let the engine sing.