Black and white photograph of a small black BLOW lettering tattoo in typewriter-style capitals on a woman's lower abdomen, above the waistband of her underwear.

Small BLOW lettering on a hip

Lettering · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white photograph shows the lower abdomen of a woman in a dark top and underwear, with her fingers holding the waistband. The single word BLOW is set in small, evenly spaced capitals with a typewriter-style serif, in fine black linework. The soft studio lighting and tight crop keep the focus on the small tattoo against the pale skin.

Lettering Other Word Typewriter font

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the lamp, you great lump, and keep your hands off the cocoa. Right. Where was I? Ah, the Halcyon Vale, four days south of the Azores, with a hold full of salt cod and a wireless operator called Pruett who had not slept since Tuesday.

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The glass had been falling all night. Pruett sat in the chart room with a typewriter the owners had made him carry aboard, a daft thing to bring on a ship, and he tapped out the same report each time the needle dipped. The sea lay flat as a pressed sheet. The swell came up from the south like something breathing under a blanket. Captain Osgood stood at the window with his pipe unlit and said the sea was a liar. The men below said the captain was a liar too, but they all knew better than to say it loud.

Pruett typed one word on a slip of paper, not a sentence, because the owners' code had no room for feeling. He pinned it to the board where the captain would see it at dawn. Osgood read it, frowned, and read it again, the way you read a letter from someone you have been waiting on. BLOW. Four capitals, evenly spaced, struck the way that machine always struck them.

By noon the sky had gone the colour of wet slate, and the Halcyon Vale was running before a wind that screamed through the rigging like a choir with the wrong key. Osgood had every sail reefed by two o'clock, and she rode the storm with her bow down in the swell and not a plank sprung. Pruett kept the slip in his breast pocket for the rest of the voyage, and when the captain asked for it back he refused, because it was the only forecast he ever got entirely right.