el barbero y sus amigos

It was the day before Mother's Day.
The air was damp, cold, and the visibility was minimal.
Flaco entered the seedy tattoo parlor with a great amount of trepidation. He hated needles.
"I could never be a junkie," he would squeal, "No fuckin' way hombre."
But Flaco was determined.
It was a mission of redemption.
The tattoo artist was a voluptuous women, her pierced belly button glinting gold in the exposed space above her wide belt.
"Forgive me," Flaco said to her.
"What?" she said, adjusting the Buddy Holly glasses that straddled the bridge of her thin nose.
"I want the words 'Forgive Me' across my back. I want to show my mother. I want to go there tomorrow and show her. It'll be there forever, no?" Flaco asked.
"Definitlely," the zoftig women said.
"Vamonos," Flaco answered.