I want a tattoo.
I like the artistry.
I like the symbolism.
I think having an arm sleeve of ink is insanely cool.
I think honoring past relatives is touching.
I want THUG LIFE across my chest and 914 on my forearm. I want a photo of my dog and another one of my kids as babies. I can tattoo my wife on my back and my brother on my stomach. I used to hate tattoos, but I’ve really, truly, truly come to embrace them. Plus, I’m a stay-at-home writer in his mid-40s. The age of trying to impress that stodgy first or second employer is pretty much over. It’s my skin, and I can do whatever the hell I want with it.
That said, I have a near-chronic fear of needles.
So this will never happen.