Small black script lettering reading yolo on the side of a finger, in a fine line lettering style, photographed on a hand resting over dark jeans.

Small yolo script on a finger

Lettering · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a hand with a small word, yolo, tattooed in thin black script along the side of one finger near the knuckle. The linework is fine and even, with the letters slightly slanted and joined by simple strokes. The image is in black ink only, set against dark denim and grey pavement in a casual, slightly off-centre composition.

Lettering Fine line Hand Script Word Finger

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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

Ruth Abbot rang the breakfast gong twice, because the first ring had not woken the Pryce brothers, who were still arguing about a tide table in the upstairs bath. The new lodger came down early instead, her finger wrapped in a plaster that had slipped half off, asking whether the Wednesday bus still ran out to the caves at Hollin Point. It did, Ruth told her, twice a day if the driver was in the mood, and the driver was never in the mood before ten.

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Nell had arrived on the Thursday with one suitcase, a tin of tea and a notebook she kept shut. Ruth noticed the small word inked along her knuckle the way she noticed everything in a house with eleven rooms and one working kettle. Ruth's late husband Alf had kept a list too, pinned inside the larder door in pencil: fix the gutter, learn the Charleston, see a seal properly, tell Maureen about the Sunday. Eight years on, the gutter still dripped into the bins and the Charleston had defeated them both. Ruth had never crossed anything off, and had never had the heart to take it down.

On the Wednesday the bus came at ten past ten, and Nell was not on it. Ruth found her at dusk on the bottom step of the boarding house, sand on her shins, the notebook open on her knee. She had written the Charleston in capitals and drawn a neat line through it, and beside it, in a hand that sloped the way the word on her finger did, she had added: Ask the landlady to dance.

Ruth went inside, got the pencil from the larder door, and came back out. Neither of them could do the Charleston. They did it anyway, badly, on the wet flags, while the Pryce brothers leaned out of the top window and shouted the tide times at them.