Monday, July 28, 2014
The best part was the tattoo itself. She must have gone to a big city to have it done. It was like a fine trompe-l'oeil painting. The tattoo featured three beautifully arranged slices of crisp bacon, hot off the griddle. It was so lifelike, I knew if I got close enough I’d hear the sizzle. I involuntarily reached out to touch it, but I was too slow. “No touching,” she said. “Only my boyfriend gets to do that.” Down went the skirt, and whoosh, she was gone – leaving me there in a state of shock, standing in the gravel of Big Helen’s parking lot, leaning against my truck due to a sudden onset of weakness in my knees.
