𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃

23: 𝗱𝗲𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂

𝗞𝗗

four days 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿:

Stepping out of my office, I could hear Shari holding a conversation with someone. The Voice of the Heroes by Lil Baby & Lil Durk played in the background of the shop, courtesy of Mike being here now. The rap album was the main factor of noise as he worked on a back piece for a young girl.

It was going on four o'clock and I had been here since eleven. My goal was to reset the security system for everyone's keycards before working on the system locks on the entrance and exit doors. Last on the agenda was processing some bills inside the shop.

My clientele today was slim to none. Tim Anderson of the Chicago White Sox was doing a casual stop-by. No work is being done, but because of our rapport, whenever he's in Atlanta — we chopped it up for a few. His last sleeve was done here at Dreamville and after a few trips to the A — he qualified me as his personal tattoo artist.

Conversations flowed easily. From money talk to the women, business, and street news in Atlanta. Whatever was to be expected during his off-season, was discussed right here.

"That's who I wanna see." Came from the opposite side of the counter and Shari looked over at me. A surprised expression on her face and I cringed internally. The young lady speaking to her was not someone I was familiar with. Yet the tone in which she spoke oozed friendliness.

Slowly Shari closed the binder, waiting for me to acknowledge them. She probably thinking all types of shit right now...

"What's up, Shari?" I asked, coming to stand next to her at the receptionist's desk.

"Ms....Tamia is asking about our piercer position. Or if it's been filled already, she's interested in becoming an artist."

"I got a full house right now. Especially for artists. What work do you have on you? For the piercer position?" Shari seemed to take that queue as her lucky chance to exit. Walking away with the binder to her chest, mumbling something along the lines of 'thank God' — to which I had to scuffle my laugh at.

"I got my phone...it's some work in there."

Of course.

As unprofessional as it was, I forgot her name too quickly. Only a second after I realized what was going on — there was an iPhone in front of me. The case of it was heavier than expected. The details mimic an off-brand Chanel design.

However, on the screen was a group of photos.

At first, I didn't know if it was even her work. But the full hand tattoo shown in some of them was confirmation. Speaking of tats? The young light skin had quite a few. From a small heart on her face to a full hand and even something marked on her right hand. I couldn't see much past that because of her clothing. But it didn't take rocket science to know she wasn't afraid of the needle.

At my disposal, were dozens of photos showcasing her work. She talked me through most of it. Selling herself by knowing the names of each type of piercing, even a few shots of her needlework.

But like with most strangers, I didn't have much of a conversation to offer. I heard everything though.

"I ain't calming to be the best, but I know I'm good." She told me confidently, exiting the photo album titled: My Work.

Most of us here are old-fashioned in the sense of portfolios. Still, we used a black binder like most tattoo shops. One that grew with our decades of working. Jessy was the first person I knew to keep her work remote, but I'm guessing that's a thing now.