But this lady is swirling with tattoos that are moving and swimming about like a fishbowl. I don’t like tattoos, Carl.” I sighed, looking up at the hole, calming slightly. If her dot was white, then we weren’t in immediate danger. “You have a tattoo,” I said absently. “Remember? And I have two now. And you know Bea had a tattoo, too. That awful tramp stamp.”
