Small black moustache tattoo on the ankle, beside a brown brogue shoe and a rolled denim trouser cuff.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small moustache tattoo on an ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A small, solid black moustache design sits on the side of a bare ankle. The shape is simple and outlined with clean, even linework, with little or no shading. The warm tones of a brown leather brogue shoe and a rolled blue denim cuff frame the tattoo against a muted grey ground.

Fine line Ankle Moustache

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bell over the door of Price's barber shop in Calder Bridge had not rung after eight since the flood year, so Walter Price put down his strop and reached for the scissors before he looked up. It was Dorothy Haig from the post office, pushing her nephew Frank in ahead of her with one hand flat between his shoulders, as though he might bolt.

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'He's had it done in Liverpool,' Dorothy said, to nobody in particular. 'A sailor did it for a shilling, and he's not told his mother.' Frank sat in the chair and pushed back his trouser leg, and there it was: a small black moustache, twirled at both ends, no bigger than a sixpence. Walter studied it in the mirror the way he studied a bad parting. 'Clean work,' he said. 'Whoever did it had a steady hand and a bit of cheek.'

Frank laughed too loudly, and Walter saw that the boy had been waiting the whole length of the High Street for someone to say something like that. Walter had worn a moustache himself until 1939, a stiff brush he waxed each morning until Ellen said it made him look like a man who sold insurance. He had shaved it off the week before their wedding and never grown it back. He reached for the tin of wax on the shelf, then changed his mind and tapped the brush against his palm instead.

'Right,' he said, lifting the cloth from Frank's shoulders. 'Let's make your mam's hair look as good as your ankle.' When the boy had gone, Walter swept the cuttings into the pan and found one grey hair caught in the bristles of his own brush, and he kept it there a while before he tipped it into the bin.