Fine line black script tattoo on a forearm reading got a dream, got a spark, got somewhere to be.

Small lettering quote on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A three-line quote in black script is tattooed on a pale forearm, reading "got a dream, got a spark, got somewhere to be". The thin, even linework uses mixed lowercase lettering, with the words spark and somewhere set in a slightly larger or different hand. The image is a close, plain photograph in pure black ink against a light skin tone, with a white backdrop and dark surroundings.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Quote Lettering Script Text Dream

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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

Harold Quayle had lettered shopfronts in Hull for forty-one years, and he could usually tell what a client wanted from the first line they tried to explain. Mrs Okafor wanted something for the window of her new bakery and could not decide what it should say. He pencilled three lines on the back of an invoice in his plain, careful hand: got a dream, got a spark, got somewhere to be. She read them twice and said it sounded like a bus timetable.

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"It's meant to be a nudge," he said. "Plain words do the work." He let her watch as he loaded the dip pen and the small sable brush. When he reached the middle line he slowed, lifted the brush, and wrote SPARK in capitals that leaned like a flame. Somewhere he set in a looser hand, the letters dropping below the baseline as if they were already halfway out of the door. She asked why he had changed the hand. He said some words want to move.

The card went up on a Saturday in March. Harold passed it on his way to the bus stop and saw a lad of maybe nineteen standing outside with a holdall at his feet, reading the glass with his lips moving. The lad went in, bought a bun, came out and read it again. Then he hitched the bag onto his shoulder and walked off towards the station without once looking back.

Harold kept the invoice in his coat pocket for months afterwards, the pencil faint in the fold. Every morning someone wiped the window and the words were still there, the middle line catching the light the way he had meant it to.