[National Magazine Awards Finalist] [Fiction] A tattoo artist meets a middle-aged mom:
The woman stood in the doorway, twisting her head at odd angles like a goddamn owl to see our designs on the walls, before walking up to the counter.
'Sure you’re in the right place?,' I asked. 'This ain’t no nail salon.'
'Is Nate here?'
'Yeah,' I said, 'what’s up?'
'Marion,' she said, reaching her hand over the counter. I took it and shook. 'You came highly recommended by my niece, Janice. You tattooed a rose on her hip.'
She looked at me like she expected me to remember. Shit, if I could remember every rose I tattooed on some girl’s hip, I’d be in the Guinness World Records for the best fuckin’ memory.