Black ink lettering tattoo on the forearm reading YOU DON'T HAVE TO above a boxed thumbs-up Like icon and ME below.

You Don't Have To Like Me lettering tattoo

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Black block capitals read YOU DON'T HAVE TO above a rectangular outline containing a thumbs-up icon and the word Like, with ME beneath it. The lettering and outlines are solid and fairly uniform in black ink on darker skin. The design fills the frame, with a partial figure visible at the left edge.

Lettering Forearm Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The man at the lost property hatch wanted his umbrella back, and he wanted it described by its character, which Delia Prothero had not been trained for. Black, she said. Telescopic. Bought for a wedding he no longer attended. He nodded as though she had confirmed something important, and she turned the ledger round so he could write his name under a line that had been empty since March.

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The shelves behind her held what the railway had collected and nobody wanted back: a child's wellingtons, a clipboard titled How Do You Feel About Your Commute, forty-one single gloves, and a square of hardboard the size of a tea tray. Someone had painted it with black block capitals. YOU DON'T HAVE TO, and under them a rectangle with a thumbs-up drawn inside and the word Like beside it, and ME at the bottom where the paint had run thin. A busker had left it on the bench outside platform three in the autumn, Delia supposed, after a bad afternoon of coins and sympathetic strangers.

She kept meaning to bin it. Instead she propped it against the kettle, where it stood through the slow hours between the 14:10 and the 17:50, its message facing the room whether anyone read it or not. Nobody ever did read it aloud. Nobody claimed it either.

On the last Friday before the strike, a teenager came to the hatch looking for a phone charger and stopped in front of the kettle. He read the board twice, then laughed, a short surprised sound. Delia said nothing. When he left she moved the board back to the shelf, face out, and watched the empty platform through the glass, where the evening rain had begun to pool beside the yellow line.