Ink Love
December 16, 2019Essay by Mandy Shunnarah
Tattoos are the promises we make to ourselves.
Tattoos are the promises we make to ourselves.
It’s been so long that laugh tracks seem fresh again.
It’s not the spasms or pain I remember, only the damp, hot, itchy, smelly strips of wool.
The Kumbh Mela never comes to Pittsburgh: no one mistakes the Allegheny for the Ganges.
We didn’t realize the degree to which irrigation saturated our lives until our first trip to the Oregon coast.
What had started as an attempt at witty improv had grown strange, weird and oddly gregarious.
I like first-person headshots possibly more than I like writing.