A Pocket Archive (38)

I squinted at the mirror on the far side of the room, trying to watch as K.'s needles whirrled, plucking out a new design on my skin. My eyes ached, straining from trying to look too far to the side while I simultaneously tried not to move. Not that I could get far; the side of my head was stuck to the smooth blue leather of the tattoo chair the same way my thighs did to car seats in the summer. I wondered if the faint wrinkles from the stiches in the leather would leave an impression on my cheek. I smirked at the thought, and closed my eyes, halfway dozing off to the faint electric hum while enjoying the pleasant, tingling stings down my back, neck, and upper limb.

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