I circled back to clear the top shelf next but choked on the lump in my throat when Clint’s eyes stared back at me. I fell to my knees inside the closet, drinking in the mural of my archangel. I wanted to speed to the garage for the red paint to cover it, but my legs wouldn’t obey the order, and besides, what good would that do when the replica lived hidden on the skin beneath my shirt? I gathered the skin of my taut ribcage, the tattoo burning and aching and laughing at me.
Yeah that was a big decision dude. I guess the fly fishing in your underwear must’ve been before the tattoo was finished.
I hope he goes and gets a clown nose or Groucho Marx glasses tattooed over Clint’s face on his chest tattoo 🤡🥸
