Black fine-line script lettering running vertically down the centre of a person's upper back, shown on bare skin with a light sheen.

Vertical script lettering down the back

Lettering · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a person's bare back with a single line of black cursive script tattooed vertically down the centre. The linework is fine and even, with a bolder stroke at the top and a few flourished capitals. The skin is evenly lit with a glossy sheen, and the lettering fills the middle of the frame.

Lettering Fine line Back Script Word Cursive

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The Palais on Ferry Road had a sprung floor that gave under your feet like a trampoline with ideas above its station. Mr Dunmore, who owned it, swore the boards had been laid by men who understood that a thing which bends will outlast a thing which refuses. I was seventeen the summer I took the broom job, and I thought the place was a cathedral that had agreed to hold dances.

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Walter ran the boiler and the lights, and he had a back bent so far forward he looked permanently halfway through a bow. Above the stage, in letters he'd painted himself, he had put a line from a hymn his mother sang, and beneath it, smaller, the words he actually lived by: bent not broken. He taught me the quickstep by tapping his stick on the floor, one-two, quick-quick-slow, and he'd say that the boards were doing half the work if you let them.

On the last Saturday in August a storm came in off the estuary and the lights went out in the middle of a foxtrot. The band kept playing on the stage by the glow of cigarette ends, and the dancers kept moving, feeling their way across a floor that rose and sank beneath them. Walter stood in the corner with his stick, his back as crooked as ever. When the high windows rattled in their frames, the whole hall groaned and swayed, and nobody fell.

When the power came back, the floor was still level, its boards tight and singing. Walter straightened, slowly, one vertebra at a time, and handed me the broom. "Mind the corners," he said, "they're the only bit that remembers being straight."