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i'm standing in front of the tattoo parlor. it's like a perfect magazine cover.
i'm afraid to open the door and let all of the malaises enter and ruin the magnificence of this building. it is blessed with the beauty of two different pastel shades of blue. turquoise and powder blue. the name's written in big,calligraphic letters,displayed to the whole town.
i'm afraid to sit on the couch when the receptionist tells me to,in case i wrinkle the fabric or stain it with whatever was on my pants. the couch is soft,my fingertips confirming it,and inlaid with a fine green linen; white roses embroidered so delicately that i'm imagining flower petals traveling through the gentle spring breeze and landing there,sunking in. but i know they took hundreds of hours to sew.
the white curtains covering the outside world,are voile. they have that kind of white that is untouched and devoid of any sprinkle of dust. a cursory look to the right shows me the almost hidden cords that are used to open and close them. i'm wondering why would anyone do that. why would they open them when there are so many things to admire here?
the blank,unwhitewashed walls are encompassed by a vintage ambience,one that i miss in the contemporary days. it is fully covered however,with diverse panels of tattoos. flowers,quotes,wings,skulls,dragons...they are black and white,not casual snaps,but arranged to look like such by a professional.
"you like that one?". a curious voice behind me interrupts my thoughts,probably when they realized that i've been looking at the painting of a various colored butterfly for quite a while now. i feel disturbed for a few seconds,not giving me the time to think in silence,but that feeling rushes away when my eyes land on a bright smile,one that not even the voile curtains can cover up.
i nod my head in approval,pursing my lips to refrain the smile that almost overpowered my consciousness. "it's beautiful...".
he agrees in silence and we both get lost in the painting for a while,eyes sparkling in anticipation,as though the butterfly will wake up from its longtime sleep. "what do you think?",i ask with a gentle voice.
he doesn't reply right away. in fact,he takes his time to inspect the tattoo even more,to discover its deeper elements. my question gives him the opportunity to search deeper,to contemplate whether that tattoo is really what it looks like or not.
"the designer must never tell. i like to leave that to my cutomers".
i don't detect any hint of lie in his voice. i freeze and stare at him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. a wave of realization flows all over my body as i inspect him from head to toe. his arms are covered in tattoos,mostly quotes,and i can sense an odd vibe emitting from him. one which shows that he knows what he's doing here. it feels like he owns the place and everyone in it.
