what if tattoos just randomly appeared on our skin at key points in our lives and we had to figure out what they meant for ourselves
A five year old at the gas station said he liked my “bat woman” tattoo excitedly. His father condescendingly asked how many I had. I told him I had 11. He scoffed and asked how waiting tables all my life sounded and I said, “it’s alright on the weekends, but throughout the week I’m your son’s teacher.” He walked out without another word.