Arabesque, Suggest, Acquiesce Version II

The canvas she presented was not unpleasant-in his years as a tattoo artist he’d rested his arm on many a toosh while plying his art just above the thong line. Trouble was, there was this person attached with no clear idea of what she wanted. “Something flowing, like swirling arabesques” she said, “but not too, like, henna, ya know?” She raised up to look at him AGAIN “You know, like, organic, like an art nouveau thingy”. He poised his pen just above the skin, thinking about designs he’d done that might please her and get her off his damn table. Twisting back to look at him she smiled, “I want it to be, like, a reflection of who I am, like, you’d do only for me”. “Scratch the Van Gogh” he thought. “Maybe like a…” “Would you please shut up and let me do this!” He cried. “Sorry” she said and laid back down. A smile crept across his lips. For the next half hour the only sound was the hum of the needle. He handed her a mirror as he walked out of the room. There in a flowing spiral was a single question mark.

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