Black and grey fine line script tattoo of a three line quote on the ribs, with a hand resting above it.

Script quote along the ribs

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white photograph of a three line quote written in thin, cursive script on the side of the torso, with the lower lines stepped to the right. The linework is even and fine, with no shading, and the lettering is set on pale skin. A hand with short nails rests above the text and a sheet of white fabric falls across the upper left of the frame.

Fine line Lettering Ribs Quote Script Text Hand

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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 Waltzer stopped at ten past eleven, the way it always did when Dinah Hollis wanted the lights off the last car, and Cal stood at the switch with his palm flat on the cold lever, listening to the generator wind down over the Lincolnshire fields. Forty trailers, a yard of churned mud, a tarpaulin slapping the coconut stall. He had asked to stay on through the wash-down, because the alternative was the caravan and the envelope waiting on its table.

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The envelope had been forwarded twice from Doncaster. Inside, in his sister Marian's looping hand, was a line copied from a sympathy card and then copied again, the second time with her own corrections: If our love could have saved you, you would have lived forever. She had never been able to leave a sentence alone. Cal had read it nine times, and each time it sounded less like a comfort and more like a bill.

Ruth, who painted the gondola panels and owned a jar of brushes older than him, found him at the switch. He read it to her. She held the letter at arm's length against the bulb and said the trouble with a sentence like that was that it made the dead do the work of the living. Then she handed him a tin of black enamel and a number two liner. Paint it under the name board, she said, where the punters can't read it and you can.

He worked until the lamps guttered, lettering in thin strokes along the underside of the board, each line stepped a little further right than the last so the words ran downhill towards the gate. By the time the lorries pulled out at dawn the enamel had dried to a dull shine. Nobody would ever read it. Cal left the board facing the empty field, where the grass was already springing back.