The Tattoos Who Were Bored

When he walked into the parlour the tattoos became excited

With his bushy beard, crash helmet and pony tail they knew they were in for a life of adventure. Even as they were being inked onto his arms they dreamed of the noise of the Harley, the elements crashing against them as they cruised the highways and byways, living the life of a rebel, an outsider, an outlaw, as someone who lived outside of the rules and did what they wanted, when they wanted

No one was going to tell them what to do. It would be a hard living, hard drinking life for them full of brothers and sisters in arms, leather and denim clad, sleeping out under the stars, biking from town to town until it was time to move on and cause chaos and anarchy somewhere else

But they were wrong. So very wrong. He turned out to be a ‘Hipster’ who worked in a cafe selling deconstructed biscuits dishes at a ridiculous price to other hipsters with more money than sense. They lived in a part of town that was really a shit hole but everyone pretended was ‘up and coming, buzzing and trendy’

He seemed to socialise not with rebels who lived by their own rules but by other young men with big beards who said they were ‘creative types’ but never really seemed to do anything. They were all nice enough but did not really have opinions on anything and only really cared about what their latest gadget was

The tattoos were bored; really bored. If they had to listen to one more crap 80’s tune or be around people drinking nothing stronger than a large, decaf, soya milk latte they would scream. Nothing ever happened in their life that excited them. They were images of a life that shouted so much more than this. They knew they were nothing more than an attempt by the man to look more interesting than he really was. He had done it just to be ‘on trend’ and they also had a horrible feeling that they were only a few years away from getting the laser treatment. They would be no more before they had have even had the chance to live

Something drastic had to be done. They collectively decided on the best course of action and waited for their chance. It came at the next music festival being held in the local park. Their man had fallen asleep in the sun after one craft beer too many with friends. As he slowly cooked in the sun they heard the sound they had all been waiting for. An engine roared as its rider switched off his bike and walked towards the beer tent. His leathers, the denim waistcoat, his very demeanor meant he was the real deal

As he pushed his way to the front they made their move. Slowly they slid off of their hosts arms towards their new saviour, gently sliding up his legs to nestle amongst tindred spirits on his heavily tattooed arms who greeted them like long lost friends

‘Welcome aboard brothers and sisters, strap in and get ready for the ride’  

As he swung the first punch they were covered in warm beer and not long after felt the wind rushing against them as he made a getaway on the Harley

‘This is more like it’ they squealed like excited children as they roared off down the road looking forward to where they were going to end up next

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