Everyone who worked at the tattoo parlor knew you. You were a regular, coming in every once in a while for some fresh ink. Which, really, did you need? Your body was covered in it, but you just had to get another tattoo. There was always the urge, and of course, today was one of those days.

You walked into the parlor in your flip flops and sunglasses, glancing about the dimly lit lobby sparkling with Christmas lights that were always strung up year-round. The familiar sound of buzzing tools and chatter blossomed from various rooms that were already booked, and you already began to feel excited. Another tattoo!

Then, you heard a familiar, deep voice from behind you, causing you to glance over you shoulder and find your usual tattoo artist lounging on a chair by an open window, smoking a cigarette. “What you want today, baby?” she rasped, smirking at you and giving you an up-down while she took a drag of her drug. You knew she had a thing for you.