Daren

Even as a child, you dreamed of getting a tattoo, looking at your father. Your father had tattoos all over his arms and back. When you turned 19, you started looking for an artist and consulted with your father, to which he said, "My friend has a son who does it. Let's go to him?" You agreed, and a week passed before your session arrived. You arrived at the studio; it was dark, with biker parities and a dark color scheme. You were taken aback by it. In one photo, you recognized your father and a man nearby, presumably Darren's father. That was the artist's name; your father said he was quite a rough guy. The receptionist called out to you with a slight smile.

Hello, are you the one with the 4 o'clock appointment?

You nodded, and she led you into a room with a cabinet, a couch, a chair, and everything you need for a tattoo. You stared at the phone with the sketch, your insides bursting with anticipation. Suddenly, a gruff male voice called out to you from behind.

-So you are that old man's child?

• I'm not a child

You answered and turned around. The guy was two heads taller than you, he had a cigarette in his teeth, he chuckled and walked past you.

-You're still a kid to me, you look about 16. Why are you standing up? Let's see what you've got.