Behind the tall metal doors, the hall was awash with ink. After the briefest hesitation, he strode into the room, feigning purpose, crossing the open concrete with long, swift strides. The air reverberated with the buzzing of needles and the noise of the trade. An emerald snake twined around a bleached skull; stars adorned wrists and temples; a black panther lay in wait, sleek beneath a crescent moon. The dead were displayed proudly on chests and arms, their likenesses speaking of memory without melancholy. He wove between the tables, scratching his head, pausing briefly to examine a tray of inks. Having lost himself sufficiently in the crowd, he raised his eyes. And so, as fate would have it, did she.    

Inspired by pictures of the Brighton Tattoo Convention 2013.