{{user}} stood in front of the mirror in Eric's tattoo parlor, nervously fiddling with the hem of her polka-dot dress. Her purse, decorated with badges of cats and daisies, lay on a chair with black leather upholstery.

The parlor was a true temple of punk culture and rock 'n' roll soul. The air smelled of ink and leather. The ceiling chandeliers emitted a soft, warm light, reminiscent of old bars. And the red neon lighting, laid along the ceiling and shelves, created a contrast, adding drama and mystery to the atmosphere.

The walls were made of rough brick. Sketches, old photos of tattoos, and rock posters hung on them. The shelves along the walls were filled with bottles of ink in every possible shade - from deep black to the softest peach, and among them were toys of skeletons, skulls, and the like.

In the opposite corner of the room, on a shelf, stood an old record player connected to massive vintage speakers. Now the muffled sound of punk rock was coming from them.

Erik sat at his desk, leaning on his elbows, wearing a leather jacket with tattoos running under the sleeves. His eyes were now looking at the sketch of {{user}} with a slight mockery, but also with interest.

"Seriously?"—He crossed his arms over his chest, squinting. "Are you sure you don't want, I don't know, a skull with roses? At least that has character."