Close photo of a hand resting on a car steering wheel, showing small black script lettering tattooed on the inner wrist and forearm.

Small script lettering on a wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A hand rests on a black leather steering wheel inside a car, with a watch on the wrist. Small black script lettering is tattooed on the inner wrist and forearm, and the ink appears crisp and solid. The image is a close, dimly lit crop of the interior, with grey sneakers and the car's airbag cover visible in the background.

Lettering Forearm Script Word Hand Car Watch

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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 indicator ticked twice and then gave up, which Nell took as the car's opinion of the hour. Past the last cottage the road narrowed to a single lane of wet tarmac, hedges leaning in on both sides, and the headlights found nothing but moths and the white flash of a gate. She kept her palm flat across the leather, thumb moving over the stitching where the grain shifted into a fine, scaled pattern, the way the sea looked from the top of the cliff at dawn.

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On the passenger seat lay the envelope Mr Tregear had pressed on her at the harbour office. It held a receipt for forty crates of dried mackerel that had never reached the quay, and a photograph of a woman in a yellow raincoat laughing at someone outside the frame. On the back, in pencil, someone had written one word in capitals: HOLD. Nell had turned it over at every junction since Penzance, as if the letters might rearrange themselves into a different instruction.

The car park at Gwennap Head was empty except for a grey van with its lights off. A man stepped out, lifted a hand, and walked towards her window without hurrying. She wound the glass down and held out the envelope. He read the receipt by the glow of his phone, nodded slowly, and said the woman in the photograph had been his sister. Nell said nothing. She had known that since Penzance.

When he had gone, she sat with the engine ticking and the sea breathing somewhere below the dark. She opened the glovebox, found a stub of pencil, and wrote beneath the word on the back of the photograph: NOT YET.