Chapter Twelve
A Tattoo Parlor and Other Matters
It was nearly five weeks after my 21st birthday, in the middle of a searing summer, when Dalton drove off with me one afternoon, saying nothing about where we were going. This wasnt all that unusual, but normally, we ended up at a tavern or roadside restaurant for a beer and something to eat. This day, we pulled up in front of a tattoo parlor with a huge, glaring sign by the side of the road, and a tiny clapboard structure two hundred yards away sitting in front of a grove of pines. The exterior looked like a rundown shack that was ready to tumble into the ground.
I held my breath as we went inside.
Oddly, the place looked decent enough and certainly more inviting on the other side of the weathered exterior. Neat display cabinets of pie
