Black and grey script lettering reading Each day is a gift not a given right across the upper back, shown from behind with blonde hair and a knitted scarf.

Script quote across upper back

Lettering · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A photograph taken from behind shows a woman with long blonde hair and a knitted scarf. Across her upper back, between the shoulder blades, is a two-line quote in fine black cursive script: Each day is a gift not a given right. The lettering is crisp and evenly spaced, and the photograph is in black and white, with a lace top and lockers visible in the background.

Lettering Back Quote Script Text Back tattoo Cursive

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dad's clock has stopped at twenty past three again, and I've stopped trying to fix it, because the lockers at the depot rattle enough for both of us. I'm writing this on the back of a timetable at the end of a double shift on the 43, somewhere past Heaton Park, with the heater ticking and nobody upstairs but a man asleep in a donkey jacket.

Keep reading

You asked me on the phone whether I'd keep driving nights now the baby's older. I said I'd think about it. The truth is I've been counting stops since you left, and I've started to think the number matters less than the ones where someone gets on and says thanks. Nan had a saying pinned above the sink, in biro on an old calendar, and I used to roll my eyes at it: each day is a gift, not a given right. She underlined the word given as if it had been rude to her.

Tonight a girl got on outside the infirmary with a carrier bag of grapes and a dressing gown under her coat. She asked me to wait while she ran back for her phone. I waited. Four minutes, the engine running and the doors breathing open and shut. When she climbed back on she said her gran had just woken up and asked for the football results, and she'd laughed so hard in the corridor she cried. I didn't charge her the fare. I just looked at the calendar scrap tucked behind my visor, where I'd written Nan's saying in the margin.

Come home at Easter. Bring the boy. I'll make the bacon sandwiches Nan never let us have on a Sunday, and we'll say out loud that we were lucky to have her at all.