Colour full sleeve tattoo of Simpsons cartoon characters covering an upper arm and forearm, worn by a seated man in a grey t-shirt.

Simpsons characters full sleeve tattoo

Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A seated man in a grey t-shirt shows a full sleeve tattoo of crowded cartoon characters from The Simpsons, spanning the upper arm and forearm. The bold outlines are filled with flat yellow, blue, pink and red, with the characters overlapping and filling every gap. The photograph is taken indoors at an angle, with the arm held forward against a cluttered office background.

Upper arm Forearm Cartoon character Sleeve

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Hush now, let me get the flask open first, my knees don't do platforms any more. You want the one about the crowd on Platform Four? Right. It was the last Tuesday before the timetable changed, quarter past six, and the 6.22 to Shelford was stood at the far end with its doors open and nobody on it.

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Because nobody had been on the platform either, not at first. Then a bald man in a tie came off the stairs, looking at his watch as if it had personally wronged him. Behind him came a boy with hair like a fistful of yellow spikes, then a woman with a blue beehive tall enough to snag the canopy, then a round-eyed fellow with a tiny red bird perched on his shoulder. By the time old Mr Ogilvie Pratt had got his cap on straight there were thirty of them, every one the same butter colour, every one with their faces pressed up against somebody else's.

Mr Pratt tried. He blew his whistle. He read the rules about standing behind the yellow line out loud, twice, in the voice he kept for funerals. They didn't so much ignore him as fill in the gaps around him. A little girl in a pink dress wedged herself between a bin and a bench. Somebody got on the bench. Somebody got on the somebody. By half six the platform was so full of elbows and staring eyes that the cleaner gave up sweeping and sat on a pile of luggage to watch.

Then the 6.22 gave a long sigh and the doors began to close, and the crowd, all at once, poured aboard like paint soaking into a page. Mr Pratt ran for the last carriage. He got one foot on the step and looked back, and there on the empty platform stood a yellow man in a railway cap, waving at him with a face exactly like his own.