JJ
Friday drifted by in a haze.
Not because the shop was busy. Quite the opposite.
The steady hum of tattoo machines usually helped quiet my mind. There was something almost meditative about the work. Measuring lines. Mixing ink. Stretching skin. Wiping away excess pigment to reveal clean black beneath. It demanded enough concentration that the rest of the world often disappeared.
Today it refused to.
Every quiet moment gave my thoughts another opportunity to wander somewhere they had no business going.
Millie.
The anonymous texter.
The preserved dandelion puff sitting on my nightstand and another one sitting at my station.
I’d lost count of how many times I’d opened the conversation on my phone only to reread the same handful of messages.
I know a lot of things.
I’m observant
