Okay, so it’s easy to have the same pair of Vans as the next guy, or the same earrings as that chick who might have caught your clever glance on the bus, but those aren’t the things that really separate you, right? There’s another you, a real you that nobody else can see, unless you want them to.
There’s the you that really means something, the real individual. There’s an artistic, sensitive side, a side that has experience like concrete, but needs color. There’s a scream that never ends, but no one else can hear it, unless you choose to let them.
You’ve got to say it in the right way, to show that there’s only one you. You need a tattoo. You might even need 46 of them…
So then you find yourself on the bus again, having spent your last massive paycheck in its entirety on as much ink as you could get. You don’t really think of images that clearly, but you found several on the wall at the tattoo shop; it was like they spoke directly to you. Yes, we must be upon you!
You’ve got 28 percent of your arm skin under Vaseline and bandages, which are under your Independent Truck Co. hoodie. That chick who gave you that look gets on two stops later, and she’s a freak; it’s the first you’ve seen of her arms, and maybe even her neck.
You look more closely, thinking maybe you’ve found your match, but it’s not like one of those downtown coffee shop things from across the room where everyone’s green, yellow, and red-tinted skin-sleeves might just blend together a bit. There’s really something of you in this chick.
You take charge and advance toward her seat, about ten rows up. She didn’t see you. You grab the seat across the aisle.
You take a look at her arms. The images, they scream at you.
They scream at you because, well, they’re from the same wall…
Maybe, if you save up, a Harley will help you to be really unique!