The night grew old as you walked down the empty street alone. With your hands shoved in your pockets, you continued down the dim path. However, a bright, red flickering light emitting from the outside of a small shop caught your eye. ‘Tattoo Parlor’ read the sign.

“Why not,” you say to yourself. You step in to be greeted by a man covered in tattoos sitting on a stool behind a desk with a cigarette hanging out his mouth and his nose buried in a magazine.

“Walk-in’s are ten extra,” he calls out, never lifting his head to look at you.