Close-up of a hand with two tiny black fine line quotation mark tattoos on the inner wrist, above a red sleeve.

Small quotation mark tattoos on the wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A woman rests her hand near her chin, showing two very small black marks on the inner wrist that resemble a pair of quotation marks. The linework is thin and solid with no shading, and the ink is black against pale skin. The composition is a tight crop on the hand and wrist, with a red sleeve and dark hair in the background.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Punctuation Minimal Wrist

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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

Dear Marguerite, the rain has not let up since Tuesday and the stallholders on Shudehill have stopped pretending it's a shower. I am writing this under the awning of the fish van because my fingers won't hold a pen anywhere else. You asked me last week whether I had finally said it to him, and I hadn't, so here is the cowardly version: I wrote it out on the back of a receipt and then folded it smaller than a stamp.

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The man who sells second-hand typewriters two pitches down bought the Olivetti from the house on Lune Street, the one with the blue door. He showed me the ribbon still loaded with someone's sentence, half a line about a harbour, and the ribbon had dried into the shape of a cough. He told me the old keys sometimes stick on a punctuation mark that nobody ever wanted, and you have to coax them loose with a thumb. I thought of you, of course, and of how you always said the speech marks were the only honest part of any letter, because they admit that somebody else is talking.

I am going to walk to the post office now with this in my coat pocket, past the stall that sells nothing but buttons. If the rain lets me, I will leave it on the counter without a stamp and let it sit there, a small thing with two tails, waiting to be claimed. Write back and tell me whether the harbour ever arrives. Yours in wet wool, Nell.