Black script lettering running along the outer ankle and side of the foot in a sepia photograph.

Script lettering along an ankle

Lettering · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A bare foot and ankle are shown in a sepia-toned photograph, with a single line of black script lettering running along the outer ankle and onto the side of the lower leg. The lettering is slanted and of even weight, with simple linework and no shading. The plain background and soft lighting keep the focus on the tattoo.

Lettering Fine line Ankle Script Lettering Phrase Foot Ankle

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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

The envelope came out of the lost property sack at Crewe with the stamp still on and no address, only a single line in slanted black ink across the front: Non, je ne regrette rien. My mother used to sing that over the sink, badly, and I had not thought of it in years. I had worked the lost property hatch for eleven summers and knew most of what people forgot: umbrellas, dentures, a violin once, a wedding ring the owner swore was in the cab and never was.

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I turned it over. The flap had been licked and pressed shut, then opened and pressed again. Inside was a single sheet of the cheap paper the ticket office keeps in the back, written and crossed out so many times the nib had torn through in places. Held up to the lamp, the crossings gave way to a list of trains. Platform four. The 17:42 to Holyhead. Then nothing, only the same French line again and again, each one shakier than the last.

I thought about posting it on. Instead I walked the length of the platform in the drizzle, looking at the benches as if someone might still be sitting there with their collar up. The last train pulled out and its red lamp shrank into the cutting. Nobody came back for it. Nobody ever does, not the ones who truly mean to leave.

I put the envelope in the drawer with the spare keys and a child's yellow mitten, and I wrote on the tag in my neatest hand, the only lettering I have ever been proud of: Unclaimed. Hold for collection.