Like Real People Do [🗸]

08. phoenix

I spend hours at Ink Addicts, likely more time than I spend swathed in blankets, replaying Computer Science lectures. 

Ink Addicts is the type of place where time moves at its own pace. There is no sense of time for me when I'm there. You get lost in it - the stories, the customers, the tattoos. I think of Ink Addicts in patterns. 

Patterns like Rayne opening up shop at 9:00 or 12:00, depending on when their classes are, or Esther unfailingly arriving at around lunch with Thai from down the block, sometimes with Silvia. I get used to the rhythm, the steady familiarity that doesn't change.

Rayne breaks the pattern today. Instead of closing the shop up by themself, they toss the keys to me, telling me that they've got to head home to study. It's about 4:00 in the afternoon, and we don't close until 6:00, however business slows down around 5:00, so I end up flipping through sketchbooks filled with designs, mind pouring over additions I can make. 

Rayne lets me draw a shitload of the designs we use, and many of my works have started rising in popularity. It's like Kieran's Corner of Ink Addicts, where my designs, surrealist and fantastical, have made a home in Ink Addicts.

My pen's made its mark. I wander about the shop, cleaning loose ends and tucking stools in. It's quiet, the sky melting outside of the windows. I end up sketching, propped onto the table, hair falling over my eyes. 

The front door is pushed open and my heart threatens to leap through my throat. I eye my watch, and it's several minutes past seven. I should've closed up over an hour ago. I rise to my feet, stool pushed behind me as my eyes flick over to the doorway.

"Sorry, is this a bad time?"

Turns out it isn't in fact a burglar at the doorway, but Elliot Wu. He's in a short-sleeved dress shirt and his corduroys. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and he's got this slanted grin on his face.

"No, it's not," I say. I push past stools, feet brushing over the ground before I arrive in front of him. 

"Good because Rayne told me you were closing up tonight but I didn't know if I was too late once I finally escaped practice."

"You're not late," I  push my hair back, exhale. "I'm the one who's late. I should've closed up an hour ago." 

"I can come another time," Elliot says, thumb jutting back at the exit. 

"No you're good!" I reach out, pull back, stuff my hands into my back pockets. "Yeah, you can come in." I jut my head into Ink Addicts. "So," I start, sitting him down on one of the stools and using my foot to turn his stool round so he's facing me. "What's the deal?"

"So, you know the Crayola phoenix tattoo you gave me the other day?" I nod and he plows on. "It washed out so I thought about making it a reality."

"A reality?" I blink. "As in, a real tattoo?"