Small fine line tattoo of two avocado halves, one shaded with dots, on a person's ankle against a pale mint wall.

Two avocado halves on an ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows two halves of an avocado side by side, each with its stone visible. The outlines are thin and precise, and the shading on the left half and around the stone is built from fine stippled dots. The ink is black and grey on a light skin tone, with a plain pale mint background that keeps the focus on the small design.

Fine line Dotwork Ankle Fruit Stone

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit yourselves down, the lot of you, because this is the story of the avocados and nobody in Clacton has ever got to the end of it without a cup of tea. Mrs Haskett had them sent down from a grocer in London in the spring of nineteen fifty-two, on a whim, and they came off the milk train smelling of somewhere hot and far away. Nobody in the boarding house knew what to do with them. So she sliced the pair down the middle with the bread knife and set the halves on a saucer by the bay window, where the guests could admire them over their porridge.

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Mr Ansell, who had been to Malta and considered himself a man of the world, pressed his thumb into the flesh and declared it butter. Miss Crane said it was a pear that had lost its way. The stones sat in the middle of each half like two small dark eyes, and everyone agreed they were too handsome to bin, though nobody could say why. Mrs Haskett only said that a stone was a promise that something would grow, and then she went back to the kitchen and would not discuss it further.

On the third morning the saucer was bare apart from the stones. Elsie, who was nine and honest to a fault, swore on her grandmother that the cat had not been in the room. Mrs Haskett did not argue. She took the two pits out to the back yard, pushed them into the cracked soil beside the coal bunker, and poured the washing-up water over them.

Forty years on there is a tree in that yard taller than the chimney, and every spring it drops its fruit on the wet slates. Mr Ansell is long dead and Miss Crane has gone to live with her sister in Harwich. Elsie still lives in the house, and she will tell you, if you ask her nicely, that the cat has never once been able to climb that tree.