Black and white photo of a small serif lowercase lettering tattoo reading acp on the upper arm, near the elbow.

Small lowercase lettering on upper arm

Lettering · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of the lowercase letters acp in a serif typeface sits on the outer upper arm, near the elbow. The black linework is fine and even, and the letters are set close together with a clean, understated finish. The black and white photograph shows the arm against a dark background, with the wearer's bare back and denim-clad hips in the frame.

Lettering Upper arm Lettering Text Serif

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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 tin came across the counter of the lost property office at Hale Road station on a wet Tuesday in March 1953, wrapped in brown paper and tied with garden string. Mr Dunmore, who had kept that office for nineteen years, turned it over twice before he opened it. Inside there was no money and no letter, only a folded map of the coast, a pencil stub, and a brass button that had been sewn on and then cut off again.

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On the lid someone had stamped three small letters in a plain serif type, the sort a printer picks from a tray, lower case and neatly spaced. acp. Dunmore wrote the word in his day book under Miscellaneous and put the tin on the shelf between an umbrella and a cricket bat. Nobody came for it that spring. Women asked about gloves and a boy asked about a dog, but nobody asked about a tin with three letters on it.

In August a woman in a green coat came in out of the rain and stood at the counter without speaking. She looked at the shelf before she looked at him. "It's mine," she said. Dunmore asked what was in it, and she told him the button had been her brother's, from a coat he left on the Carlisle train in 1939, and that the map showed the bay where they had been told never to go. He handed her the tin and she tucked it under her arm like a loaf.

Before she left she asked him to sign the book. He wrote her name in the column where it belonged, and beside it, because those letters were the only mark ever left on that tin, he copied them out exactly as they were. Afterwards he thought it was the only entry in nineteen years he had made with any care at all.