THE TATTOO PARLOR
The bell on the door jingles as the man enters. The girl behind the counter looks up, revealing a neck tattooed to look like snake scales. “Hi,” she smiles, “Can I help you?” The man discusses his tattoo idea with her, and after a few minutes they have reached understanding. The girl turns the crude sketch provided into a work of art. The man grins and nods.
He sits shirtless in the leather chair, while the girl prepares, humming. She disinfects his skin, transfers the stenciled outline, then grabs a packaged needle. She shows the man that the mosquito is brand new, then pulls it out of the plastic. As it whines, firmly held in her hand, she tears off its foot-long legs one by one. She holds it up to the light, and sees its semi-translucent abdomen is full of ink. Nodding in satisfaction, she plugs in the cord. She gives the pedal a few testing taps of her foot, and when she sees that the proboscis vibrates up and down as expected, she turns back to the man. “Ready?”