I live in this nice little complex in Oakley. It’s a 42-unit building with maybe 20 residents. In my “tower” of the building, there are six apartment and only two are full – mine and James’. James is the head maintenance guy’s son. If I have a problems, it gets filtered first through James.Let me tell you a little about James. I had to call him because it was 25 degrees outside and I had NO heat. (He has the thermostat for our “tower” in his apartment.) He came up to make sure my radiators were opened only to find out that the actual problem was that he actually had to turn ON the heat. Fortunately, his little visit let has have some “get to know you” time.
James is maybe 18. He is in tattoo school. He showed me the one he and his friend are going to enter in a competition. That’s right – he showed me. he hitched up his capri-like shorts and exposed his very white thigh with a LARGE Bart Simpson on a scooter on it. Large like a pickle. Large like over a foot high and about the same wide. I told him it was nice. What else was I supposed to say?
Due to my praise, James decided to show me the tattoo on his back. First he checked to make sure his underwear was in place and then hitched up his shirt. It’s a large naked woman. Don’t worry he said, she not naked because he thinks nudity in tattoos is lame. Sorry James, but just because a woman’s hair covers her, um, chest-area-type-parts does not make her NOT naked. She was all kinda naked if you ask me.
Since that encounter, James has broken his foot. He can hear me when I come home and am getting my mail and will bellow out my name. Then he limps to the door and tells me something about the heat.
Oh, but if you want a tattoo or peircing, James and his friend are going to open a shop and he’ll hook you up. Just tell him you know me.
