Black and white photo of a small fine line tattoo on a knee, seen through a rip in grey denim jeans, with text on the fabric below.

Small tattoo on knee through ripped jeans

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A close black and white photograph of a knee showing through a ripped pair of light grey jeans. A small, delicate tattoo of a figure sits on the skin inside the tear, and a few lines of uppercase text sit on the denim below it. The image is high contrast, with soft lighting and a plain white background at the edges.

Fine line Other Denim Lettering Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Before the shutters went up in Hale Street, Nan Oddny lit the oven with the same split ash she had used since her husband died, and she did not hurry for anybody. The boy from the new bakery across the road had been coming to her back door all week with a sack of flour he did not need and a question he did not ask. Everyone in the street knew the question. His loaves looked like hers. They had the same blistered crust and the same ear split down the middle, and they sold for less.

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On the Thursday he came at four with a tray under a cloth. "Tell me how," he said. Nan lifted the cloth, studied his bread for a long time, then tore off a piece and chewed it slowly. "It's good bread," she said. "It is not mine." She took him to the starter jar, a grey crock with a crack mended in brass wire, and told him to feed it. He fed it flour and water for an hour while she swept. When he asked what the starter was, she said it was her mother's, and her mother's mother's, and that every loaf was a little older than the baker.

He tried to buy the jar. She laughed until she had to sit on a flour sack. "Take it, then," she said. "Feed it three years and see whether it knows you." He went off with a loaf under his arm and the face of a man who had been told the sea was dry.

Next morning, before the light, he stood on her step and read the chalk board she kept there. Under the prices, in her crooked capitals, she had written AIN'T NOTHING LIKE THE REAL THING, BABY. He stood there a while, then went in and bought a loaf. It cost what it always had.