Gemotions

The dingy tattoo parlor was a world away from the bright, sterile galleries he usually frequented. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and something else… something primal. He watched the artist, a burly man with a shaved head, work on the customer’s back. It was his piece, "Serpent's Kiss," a stylized snake coiling around a pomegranate.

He felt the heat rise from his neck down his spine. He wanted to reach out, to touch the perfect lines, to feel the vibration of the needle. He shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair. He gripped the armrests, his knuckles white.

The artist glanced up, a knowing glint in his eye. "You the artist?" he asked, his voice gravelly. He nodded, unable to speak. The customer shifted, a sharp intake of breath. The room suddenly felt very small, very close.