Page 3 of Mine for 24 Hella-Hours
The dimly lit studio helps my mind focus on the black-gray piece of art before me which the direct light above us compensates.
It’s the final part of the tattoo and today is a quick session with an element I decided to add to the finality of our journey.
Dipping the gun’s needle in the red ink cup, I glimpse at the graffiti on the walls.
It was done by a local artist a few years ago; telling the story of a monster of a man falling in love with a woman only to find she’s an angel sent to trick and misguide him. The deception crumpled to ashes once she confessed her love for him and ruled hell alongside the devil.
I crave the unexpected.
I feed on it.
Telling a story people don’t expect is my weapon against predictability.
Interpretation can be a vivid experience. What one thing means to different individuals is incomprehensible. Intoxicating in a way.
Being able to create something, an art that will remain on a person’s flesh till the day they die is absurd. Almost unrealistic except it isn’t. It’s poetic. Everything dies in the end because nothing lasts forever but for a while, it has a life of its own.
And behind these tattoos, I’m standing. Bringing a story back to life for an unknown amount of time.
An hour and a half in, this ink looks infernal. Satisfied with my work, I shut down the machine.
“We’re done!” I clean the tattoo with a wash bottle and dry off everything with a paper towel.
“Thanks, man it looks SICK!” He drags the last word to emphasize his satisfaction, “I’m going to show off this dragon lady.” He watches the sleeve on his left arm through the black-tinted mirrored wall, reflecting the entire shop on the opposite side of the bed.
The adrenaline coursing through his veins right now is the high I live for.
I paid extra attention to her sharp claws, scales armor, vicious teeth, and dragon eyes. Her tail twists around his forearm in a chokehold of beauty. A touch of red and yellow shades decorate various parts, bringing depth to her engaging inferno.
“Sure, glad you like it.” I wrap things up. Handing away a kit with everything he needs to care for his new ink for the days to come. After he leaves, I organize everything back to its rightful place and dispose of all the used materials.
Another day of madness is over.
Shutting off the lights from behind my counter next to the entrance, the street lights seep inside the shop as I make my way to the elevator in the back hallway.
Owning the building is a privilege. The ample space I inherited enabled me to create something of my own. Something that resonates with who I am.
The red-bricked structure is old and plain yet renovating it was an experience I will cherish forever. It wasn’t just for me. It was forthemtoo. Somehow they knew, even before I figured it out.
My long legs shuffle outside the elevator, next to it is my office—the underground level is where the extravagant nightlife takes place. This area used to be a limited underground parking lot which works wonders as a club.
A vertical line of red neon lights decorates the ceiling of our staff-only hallway that leads to the right side of the bar, I pass the staff and supply doors on each side.
My black combat boots clash with Ronnie’s green Converse when he comes from the opposite side of the hallway like a storm.
“Shit.” He takes a step back. “Sorry man, there’s a girl I’m trying to avoid.”
His desperate tone makes me chuckle, “How’s that working for you?” I let my shit-eating grin form in a knowing expression.
“So far, I managed to dodge the bullet.” His wide grin crosses his baby face. Flipping his fingers through his dark-blond hair, he shoves the other into his jeans pocket.
I’m pretty positive he’s talking about his ex-girlfriend, Gemma. She was a real piece of work especially when she broke his heart and pretended it was his fault. She comes here now and then just to throw it in his face, knowing damn well he manages the entire club and is always here. She did not deserve him.
Being the professional worker he is, I know he never brings his personal life into work. One of the many qualities I admire about him.
It may be my business but technically Ronnie runs it. I write the checks and I’m involved in the creative aspect of it all; parties, special occasions, celebrations, and holidays.
Last week we hosted a notable tattoo artist from California. He spent five days in my tattoo shop upstairs, scattering his remarkable art and attracting a new crowd here.
