The Tattooed Shakedown
I sat in the café, nestled in my headphones watching the world swing past around me. I shook my head politely at a waitress wandering over to me, and she acknowledged with a smile, quickly pivoting into a new direction. I jumped as the headphones were ripped off my ears, and the sound of the city rushed back in, busy in my ears. ‘What the hell?’ I growled, spinning in my seat to look up at whoever had taken them. ‘Where’s my money?’ the heavily-tattooed man growled above me. I snatched the headphones off him and folded them up, scowling. ‘I told you, it’s on its way.’ ‘That’s not good enough anymore,’ he said, dropping heavily into the seat across from me. ‘Please,’ I gestured sarcastically for him to join me. ‘Can I get you a coffee? Croissant?’ ‘I’d rather my money,’ he said, the tribal tattoo that curled around…
Into the Studio
The tattoo studio was like a beacon. Its pink neon glow spilled out onto the street and spread like water, bathing the surrounding blocks in soft light. At night, the studio stood out amongst the other closed shopfronts. I could even see it from my apartment. Every time I looked out my window, the tattoo studio was there, front and centre in my vision, almost like it was calling me, refusing to be ignored. Most days I would close my curtains and fall back into bed. But tonight was different. I shrugged on a coat and stepped out into the cold winter air. I’d seen the flyers for the studio around, the loopy writing that said their staff included the best tattooist Brisbane had. I don’t usually pay much attention to flyers like that, since they are often just cheap and desperate attempts to entice customers into a store, but…