Inked in Blood
I decided to get my last tattoo on a whim. It was late in the evening, almost nine o’clock, but the red Open sign still blazed outside Tattoo 804. I could see the neon as I cruised down Broad Street, heading home from what had turned out to be a wasted night. The guy I’d been seeing on and off the past few weeks had chosen tonight to break things off with me…after I paid for dinner, of course. So I wasn’t in the best of moods as I shifted gears, trying not to hit any of the lights as they flickered from green to red along Richmond’s main drag. I missed the one just before the tattoo parlor, and my brakes squealed as I ground to a halt at the intersection a block away. As I revved my engine, I stole a glance at Tattoo 804’s large, inviting windows—the pool table inside calle
