chair

I got that tattoo illegally when I was 16, sitting in a metal folding chair in the kitchen of an ex Hell's Angels named Paul in Denver, Colorado. Paul smoked about two packs of Winstons why we were there. Found out about him through our friend Matt who got a dragon on his calf. That day, after I went, JB got the Mighty Mighty Bosstones bulldog (sans horns) on his left shoulder. As you can see, mine was some sort of tribal band I picked from this book that Paul had on top of his microwave; the microwave was framed in that faux-wood and had a disposable pie tin sitting on top of it too, holding down the tattoo stencils from blowing away from the plastic oscillating fan that rustled them ever few seconds when it came back around. I just got the outline done because that's all I had money and time for. The back is totally fucked up. When I was 25, I got it filled in by a "professional" at Emporium in Denver, Colorado. I don't remember his name but had a George Bush bumpersticker on his Craftsman toolchest where he kept his needles and inks. He didn't do anything to really fix it, but instead just colored it in--blackened it in--while he talked about how he didn't like Michael C. Hall's character on Six Feet Under because he was gay.