Black and white photo from behind of a man in a flat cap and vest with a butterfly tattoo on his forearm and a black-and-grey animal design on his upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Tattooed arm and shoulder of a man in a flat cap

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A man is photographed from behind with one hand resting on the back of his head. A butterfly is tattooed on his forearm, and a larger black-and-grey animal design with fine linework and shading covers his upper arm, with a further design visible on his shoulder. The photograph is monochrome, with a blurred street scene and passers-by in the background.

Forearm Upper arm Shoulder Butterfly Animal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The fox had been sitting on the bonnet of Mr Okafor's van since half past six, and nobody on Cutler Lane could agree on where it had come from. Ada Pell said it was the thin one that used to live under the chapel steps. Dez at the newsagent said it was a stray that had been dressed up for a bet. Nobody thought to ask the fox, which sat with its ears laid flat and its tail wrapped round its feet, watching the street the way a landlord watches a tenant who is late with the rent.

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Above it, a white moth had got itself caught in the cable tie of the council's new camera. It beat at the plastic without getting free, and each time it lifted, the pole swayed and the lens swivelled to follow it, as if the whole street had been put up to watch one small creature struggle. Buses went past in their grey hurry. Nobody looked up except the fox.

Ada went over at eight with a paper bag of yesterday's rolls, meaning to leave one on the kerb. She got as far as the van before the fox stood up. She did not offer the roll. Instead she stood on the bumper, reached up with the hatpin she kept in her coat for the sake of other people's hats, and worked the moth loose one wing at a time. It lifted towards the chimneys. The fox leapt down, took a roll from the bag as politely as a waiter, and trotted off towards the station.

By dinner the story had gone round every shop on Cutler Lane and grown with each telling. Dez said the fox had shaken hands with the moth. Ada let him talk. She knew what the fox had been waiting for, and it had never been the bread.