Coming out of the gym last night, Jay pointed out the tattoo parlour in the basement.
There's a perspex banniser and the shop windows between my trusty iPhone camera and the shot. I had Cleo on one side of me, Jay on the other.
And I took this sneaky shot.
Okay, it's been insta-pimped.
But there is two ways of looking at this. You can focus on the what is happening - a guy, wearing dirty socks, is getting his leg tattoos touched up.
Or, and it might be just me, focus on the strangely arty composition of this shot. There's something vaguely Michelangelo about the whole set up. Maybe it's the positioning of the limbs, the intricacies of the drawings.
It's something so commonplace, but something so secretive. Tattoos are everywhere, but you rarely see them being done (unless you're like me and love the show Inkmaster.)
And it wouldn't have been caught if I hadn't looked down as I came out of the gym the other night.
Today's song:
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