Fine line black outline of a world map tattooed across the inside of a wrist, with the fist raised above it.

World map outline on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A raised fist with red painted nails is shown above the wrist, which carries a thin black outline tattoo of a world map showing the Americas, Africa and parts of Europe and Asia. The linework is simple and even, with no shading, and the ink is a dark blue-black. The plain pale background keeps the focus on the wrist and hand.

Fine line Forearm Hand World map Continent Outline Map Wrist

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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

The flour delivery came in at ten to four, same as always, and Tomasz had already lifted the wall map off its nail to wipe the ledge beneath it, because the ledge was where the rye cooled and the rye sweated onto anything near it. I told him to leave the map be. He said it had hung there since before either of us turned up, and that the Atlantic had gone soft at the edges from years of steam.

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The map had belonged to Desmond Pryce, who kept the shop for thirty years and never once got further than Calais. He'd gone over the continents in biro on the back of the printed sheet, one thin unbroken line, so the coastlines showed through when you held it to the lamp. He used it to plan the week's bakes. Rye for the north, sourdough for the warm places, and a seeded loaf he called the Cape, which nobody ordered except him.

I was new that winter and still counting the trays before I trusted my hands. The morning I stopped being new, I weighed out the sack, pressed my floury knuckle into the dust along the western bulge of Africa, and drew a line through it like a child tracing a school atlas. Tomasz laughed and said that was not how maps worked. I said it was exactly how bread worked: you hold the edges and let the middle rise.

By six the light had come up grey over the car park and found the counter, and the outline of the continent I'd dusted was still there, pale on the steel, with the loaves cooling on either side of it like islands nobody had yet claimed.