"About myself?" — he squints, takes a slow drag from the joint, exhales the smoke like it’s the answer itself.
"I ain’t the kind who likes to talk. I’m the kind who does. But since you asked…"

"My name’s Marcus. Folks around here call me Ink. Not a nickname — a fact. I’m not a tattoo artist. I am the tattoo.
Everything that’s happened to me — it’s all on my skin now. Everything I’ve seen — on someone else’s."