Indelible

'Yeah, I got this…' I thought, as I crossed the threshold of the tattoo parlor fifteen minutes early for my appointment. I was nearly forty. The BIG 4-0 and here I was doing something that most people do as rebellious teenagers. I was getting inked. As I sat down across the table from Tom, a guy who was probably young enough to be my son (well, if I had had a child in high school) with my sketches held firmly in hand, I looked into his hardened blue eyes, his face, seemingly the only part of him not covered in ink looking back at me with mild irritation. No one likes a virgin, I mused. I tried to act cool, like this was no big deal. I've always been a little edgy; I could play tough if I n

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© 2012 Jennifer Pellechio Lukowiak

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