I run my hands along the wall of the new tattoo parlor opening in my neighborhood. The color scheme is dark blues and neon purples and gold, and the wallpaper is a swirled, cloudy black and blue.
“Are you seeing all my fuckups?” one of the new owners asks, which of course that’s all the person who did it sees after they’ve finished - all the places where they could have done better, the little errors they made, the places where it just wasn’t perfect.
But all I could see was the way the seams on the sheets matched up, the smooth texture, the monumental amount of work, and even if it wasn’t perfect, it was still pretty amazing, which isn’t profound, but it felt like it was important, and maybe somebody working on something who’s reading this needs to hear that.
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