![]() “Was that there before?”Īfter my shift at the Art-a-Rama where I sell Blick and Utrecht supplies to art students, emo high-schoolers, and parents with kids they’re not sure what to do with, I go back to the tattoo parlor. ![]() ![]() “Do you remember this?” I show her the tattoo. I wake up my mooch-friend Delia, who’s asleep on the futon in the living room. I look at the picture on my phone that I took of the tattoo yesterday-red and raw. I look at the drawing I sketched and gave to the tattoo artist. It wraps around the heart, above and below Loot’s name. A vine with thorns where there was no vine with thorns. The next morning, I peel off the bandage to take a look. He was twelve years old when he disappeared. A small red heart on my shoulder, Loot inked across it in black cursive. For my eighteenth birthday, I get a tattoo.
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