by Cindy Abrahams

Created on: March 04, 2009

San Francisco, 1983, 7th Street and Market next to the Greyhound Bus Depot, a garishly painted door and me fresh from my 9 to 5 ultra conservative job walking to catch the bus....me, a little 23 year old fresh faced girl from the mountains near Lake Tahoe with the type of pale white skin that is almost blue it's so pale, walking in my high heels trying to avoid tripping over the drunks in the doorways around the bus depot and that garishly painted door catches my eye it says "Lyle Tuttle Tattoos" and I am mesmerized.

I open the door and the first thing I notice is the sound of male voices laughing and the sound of buzzing almost like a dentist drill but not as harsh and one long long flight of stairs. For some reason I find myself walking up that flight of stairs and I have no idea why. Sure I've got a crazy side to me, I live in San Francisco but hey I work for one of the most conservative employers in the country (at that time they made IBM look wild) and while all my friends are musicians and hanging with the punk scene and all of that I'm the conservative girl, I'm the one who does everything legal and by the book, heck I don't even drink but I have to walk up those stairs and see what is at the top and so I do.

Four faces look up at me, later I would learn their names, Lyall Tuttle, Erno, Michel and Mike. All but two of them are busy running what looks like some sort of gun up and down various body parts of people who are chatting and laughing or chatting and wincing and around me is the most colorful pictures I have ever seen. Tattoo pictures (I would learn that it's called flash but that would come later) and then the one called Erno walks over to me, smiles and says "Can I help you?".

My mind goes blank I have no idea why I am here, my friends have tattoos but it has never occurred to me that I should or would get one and I hear myself say "yes I want to get a tattoo, something delicate and feminine, I want a tiny rose on my wrist"...What? where the heck did that come from and I see all of the guys working stop, look at each other and roll their eyes and laugh and one of them shouts out "Well then Erno is your guy he specializes in pretty little roses for pretty little girls". Later I would learn that Erno was one of the best up and coming tattoo artists in the country and here I was asking him to do a tiny little rose on my wrist. "How much?" I ask and he says $75 and I think to myself how much money that is on my small salary but why not? Why not shock

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>