Black and grey realism tattoo of a revolver in a leather holster wrapped around the thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Revolver in holster on thigh

Realism · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A detailed revolver with a chequered grip sits in a shaded leather holster, which wraps horizontally around the outer thigh. The shading builds strong highlights and depth on the metal, grip and stitched leather, with the holster's belt strap extending to both edges of the frame. The photo is taken at an angle against a grey pavement, and the tattoo is the clear focus.

Realism Thigh Revolver Gun

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The pawnbroker on Tanner Street had a rule about revolvers: you never took one in on a Monday, because Monday men were always sorry by Tuesday. Dolores Frane knew the rule and broke it anyway, sliding the snub-nose across the counter in its old brown leather, the belt still buckled through the loops. The grip had been chequered by someone patient. Somebody had cared about that gun once.

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He turned it over under the lamp and didn't open the cylinder. Didn't need to. The holster had gone soft at the mouth from years of the same hand drawing and sliding home, drawing and sliding home. "Where's the man it belonged to?" he asked.

"Gone to Ostend on the Tuesday boat. Said he'd send for it." She pulled her coat tighter against the draught off the harbour. Gulls were fighting over something on the quay outside. "He won't send for it."

"No. They never do." He wrote the ticket slowly, the way his father had taught him, because a ticket written fast was a ticket that came back to haunt you. Twelve pounds. Thirty days. He tore the stub and pushed it toward her across the glass.

She left the holster on the counter where he'd put it, the belt still curled like a tired snake. On her way out she paused under the bell, turned, and found him still looking at it. "Keep it oiled," she said. "He'll want it back in good order when he comes."