ONE
“It’s not a tattoo, it’s a birthmark,” Sage insisted as a pair of curious eyes landed on her deformity.
The eyes were always first. Then came the questions. A cycle that repeated with every new person she met. Tattoos were cool, but the hideous way her veins splayed out like broken tree branches underneath the pale skin of her wrist was far from beautiful, and definitely not intentional The disfigurement she shared with her mother looked like a toddler had attacked her with a permanent marker.
Why did people have to be so nosy?
“You going to charge me?” Sage waved her credit card to be swiped, hoping the cabbie might find something else to focus on. Discussing her embarrassing deformity ranked alongside jury duty or paying taxes as far as she was concerned, and yet everyone she met
