Karl's life

I was walking down the street to the office this afternoon when I saw a couple walking hand in hand towards me. I noticed them from fifty meters and stared at them for the entire 30 seconds they approached. They didn’t acknowledge me at all. They couldn’t give a shit what I was doing. They were only thinking of each other. And that’s why I smiled.

The man’s left hand was holding her right. His pale face was hidden behind large sunglasses. He was taller than her, wearing black jeans and a white shirt that was cut off at the sleeves. The frayed edges of the shirt had turned in on themselves. His skinny arms extruded from the gaping holes and were almost entirely black with ink. No shapes were identifiable, just a few dots of his white skin glaring below.

His hand gripped her’s firmly. Her arm had just a scattering of tattoos. The expanses of uncovered skin made them recognisable. A dove with an olive branch in its beak. A shattered mirror with a woman crawling out. An apple hanging from the branch of a tree. “Biblical, self reflective, hopeful”. I thought to myself.

Then I thought about how they met ? Whether they had the tattoos before? Or if she got them to impress her boyfriend? In the early throws of a relationship anything seems sensible, everything romantic.

I have three tattoos. One to impress a girl that never loved me. One to impress a girl that once loved me. And one to distract myself when that girl stopped loving me. I smiled all the way to the office, the peak of my cap shielding my eyes from the gentle sun and the cup of green tea warming the palm of my hand.