Black fine line script reading I will make better mistakes tomorrow, tattooed on an upper arm beneath a rolled red plaid sleeve.

Script quote on an upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo is three lines of cursive script in black ink that read I will make better mistakes tomorrow. The linework is thin and even, with the letters sitting in a consistent monoline weight. The photo is taken from above in daylight, with the arm filling the centre of the frame and a grey pavement and white shoes visible below.

Fine line Upper arm Quote Script Word Lettering

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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

Ines had spent eleven years copying the Register by hand, because the orbital archive had lost its readers during the Thaw and the council still insisted that anything worth keeping must be written with a nib. Her desk sat under a skylight that leaked, and every morning she laid out three pots of iron gall ink and a sheet of rag paper the colour of weak tea.

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On the morning of the Lantern Quarter inquest, a boy from the transit yards brought her a slip of card with a sentence scratched on it in pencil: I will make better mistakes tomorrow. He had copied it off the lid of a cargo crate, he said, and wanted it set properly for his mother's marker stone. Ines frowned at the spacing. The letters leaned, the tails ran long, and the h in 'though' had been started twice.

She pulled a fresh nib from the tin and wrote it out in joined cursive, ruling each line so the baseline sat level. She left the boy's spelling of 'mistakes' alone, though he had got it right, and she left the one word he had misspelled, because it was his. When the ink dried she blotted it, slid it into a clean sleeve and handed it across the counter.

'It's crooked,' he said.

'It's yours,' she said, and watched him fold it into his collar like something that might bite. That evening she ruled a new page for the Register, copying the boy's slip beneath the official entries, and let the old blot of gall ink spread at the corner where she had set the pen down too hard.