From Proximity Magazine

“Hey man, can I see your ink?”

I’m sitting in a Starbucks in Los Alamos, NM, working from the road and trying not to explode at the soccer Mom behind me. She’s bragged for the past forty-five minutes to a friend about her children’s college plans. “Well, she can’t decide between Harvard and Stanford,” a statement expressed in a hundred different ways over the past 6500 seconds. In front of me is a timid teenage boy bearing the store-bought tokens of the feigned high school badass–dandruffed hair and a washer-worn My Chemical Romance t-shirt. He wants to see my tattoos, and feeling a  solidarity with my teenage self, I oblige, even though I’m way past deadline.

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