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A guy in my neighborhood rode his bike up alongside me and said, "Hey love,1 what's the tattoo?"
And, you know, I'm not so good with strangers, so I was like "Just a phrase."
"But what's it mean?"
And I had that moment of horror of thinking no one will get it ever and the story is always too long to tell. "Just, you know, live your life big, yeah?"
"Oh, that's awesome!" And he rode off.
But today it's covered for the first time, and that's nice too. Mine. My secret.
I've mentioned this to a few of you elsewhere, but unlike other ink I've gotten, this required the needle to be on my skin for far longer chunks of time, because it had to be done in long strokes, like regular writing, to be smooth, so it was a little strange, sitting there in Islington while some loud girl got some stars on her neck and yammered with her friend about boys being able to feel these words being cut into my back.
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1 I live in Spanish Harlem. No one calls people "love" as a random term of address. It was completely random.