Gemotions

"That’s… my design," Clara stammered, pointing at the tattoo artist’s client. The client, a burly biker, flexed his bicep, displaying Clara’s tribal dragon coiled around his arm. The tattoo artist, a smug grin plastered on his face, puffed out his chest. “Beautiful work, isn’t it?” Clara swallowed hard. She thought about the rent due next week, the ever-present gnawing lack of resources that always felt like a threat. She looked at the expensive equipment the tattoo artist had, the steady stream of clients. She licked her lips. Her heart pounded a desperate rhythm. The biker’s attention turned back to the artist.