Brandy would be pissed. Ray ogled the myriad designs covering the walls of the little shop fully aware that, if she knew he was there, man, Brandy would be pissed.
"There" was Art dans le Movement a tiny, obvious tattoo parlor (garish lighting, graffiti paint job) with no logical reason to exist in the quaint French village of Paradis. So, when he left Chambon, the immense village park, where he"d killed off a ham and pastrami on rye, a bag of chips, and an hour, and after passing a cobbler"s shoppe, a cheese shoppe and a bakery, the last thing on earth Ray expected to find was a tattoo parlor. Maybe it was fate.
Art dans le MovementThe place was decorated with the expected wall to wall tats and, unexpectedly, an amazing collection of bleached animal skulls. Rats, cats, dogs, birds. The
