Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Citgo Cogito

Today I was tattooed at a gas station in the backwoods of central Pennsylvania. Our friends recommended the place. The guy’s work is good, and so is his reputation. I got Renee Descartes’ “Cogito” lettered inside my right bicep. There weren’t very many people hanging around, but from the chair I watched a small coke deal transpire outside the big window as the sun set. Mustaches and mullets. It’s not that I know a coke deal when I see one, but my girlfriend was there with me. She pointed it out. She was more experienced with such things and thus able to identify them when she saw them. After my tattoo, she got a very Dr. Seuss-looking bird tattooed very near to her girl parts. Tom Waits was playing over the stereo, and life just kept coming. No matter where you are, or what you’re doing, or what’s being done to you, life doesn’t stop. It’s impossible to step out of it, for even a moment. No respite. Everything counts.

The original plan was to get this new tattoo right under the Occam’s razor tattoo on my shoulder. At the shop, I hatched the idea to get it inside my right bicep. The consensus among all parties present was that the inner bicep placement was much cooler than the original location. I went with it, expecting a bit of a fight from my wife when I returned and she saw it. My wife has a weird hang-up with me getting tattoos in very visible places. She’d prefer they were all able to be hidden by a t-shirt. My girlfriend didn’t seem too concerned. After the work was done, we paid and left the shop. As we approached the house, I secretly hoped that we’d walk in right after she’d just been fucked silly by her boyfriend, so the post-coital glow would soften the shock of my new, awesome-looking, but very visible ink. As we walked in the door, there were no obvious signs of any recent or current sexual activity, and my guts tightened a bit. I saw my wife sitting at their table. She seemed pretty content, so I showed her the new work, doing my best to really sell it. She seemed kind of disconnected. She wasn’t excited or angry. After a few moments, and a brief explanation from her boyfriend, it came to light that they had just smoked, and she was pretty well stoned out of her mind. I was grateful. It wasn’t my original hope, but it had served the same purpose.

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