Page 98 of A World Apart
“Holy hell,” I muttered, “that is hella bright.”
Jihoon chuckled but then the countdown started again and in that near-panic of indecision, we both ended up sticking our tongues out, half-laughing when we realised we’d done the same thing. I was a little more prepared for the flash this time and didn’t look directly at it.
When the countdown began again, I impulsively turned to face Jihoon and pressed my lips against his cheek. The flash went off, but my eyes were closed. Jihoon turned his face so that my lips traced the contour of his cheek before finding his mouth. I sighed as his lips parted. I reached a hand up to cup his face, lost in the feel of his skin, stubble rough against my palm. Jihoon’s hands tightened around my hips, pulling me harder against him as he deepened the kiss.
“Please collect your photographs and have a great day!” the mechanical voice politely telling us to leave was somehow hilarious to me in that moment, and I broke away from him, giggling, the opposite to Jihoon, who was grumbling.
Carefully, I eased myself off of Jihoon’s lap and opened the curtain to exit the booth. The photos were waiting in the tray and I picked them up, scanning the images.
I grinned at seeing the silly faces we had attempted to pull after our first, slightly awkward photo. The third and fourth photos made my cheeks heat, and I wordlessly handed the strip to Jihoon as he exited.
He took them from me and looked them over, his mouth curling up as his eyes darted across the photos before he put them in his back pocket.
The sunlight outside the small cabin of photobooths seemed brighter as we pushed aside the bead curtain, and I hastily pulled my sunglasses back down, noting Jihoon had already done the same.
We wandered further up the market, looking but not stopping. I did pause at one woman’s stall, though. She was selling hand-made jewellery that she and her husband made. He metal-worked and she designed, and it was clear they were in it for the love, both theirs and of the process.
Though she talked to me, she never lost contact with her husband, they were always either sweeping a carefree hand across each other, or looking at each other.It was kind of nice. I know some people don’t like public displays of affection, but having grown up around my parents constantly proving how much they loved each other, I found it peaceful to be surrounded by reciprocated love.
I cooed over the delicate pieces of silver and onyx, the bands of hammered metal and stones, but I guess I gave off that air of ‘young and broke,’ so the couple hadn’t seriously tried to sell me anything and had just been content to make small talk with me, until an older woman had paused to look, and they’d moved away to see to her.
We next stopped at a food truck to get a couple of coffees and a soft, doughy pretzel; which we shared.
I think we were both just content to walk and look around until we seemed to be approaching the end of the market where fewer and fewer actual stalls were and more vans were parked with the names of various businesses on their sides, so without needing to say it, we each turned back around and began to head the way we’d come.
About an hour had passed since we’d first come upon Albert’s tattoo stall, and I was surprised to see another man there now, equally as inked up but far less follicly-blessed than Albert. The man was sat on a stool in the back, hunched over the back of another man, in the process of tattooing him, although I could not see the design.
“I’ll be right back; I wanted to see something,” Jihoon muttered to me, before darting off and back into the crowd, slightly busier now that the morning was turning into afternoon.
Just then, Albert emerged from somewhere behind a dusty curtain at the back of the stall, holding an A4 sized envelope.
“Just in time,” he groused, heading towards me. He handed me the envelope, but then put his hand on the opening just as I’d been about to open it to look.
“Open it when you get home, that way I don’t have to hear you bitchin’ about it, if you don’t like it.”
I snorted, but closed the flap all the same. “Alright, Albert, keep your secrets. What do I owe you?”
“Call it an even $20 and promise not to post about it on your social media bull crap.”
“Goddamnit, Al,” moaned the heavily tattooed artist, lifting the needle from the prone man’s back. “This is the opposite of publicity; we’ve talked about this.”
“I don’t give a good goddamn,” Albert intoned, “it’s my shop, I’ll advertise how I want, and I don’t want some pasty-skinned punks seeing some of my work on the Internet and getting the idea to come see me.
“If folks want a tattoo, they’d look me up in the yellow pages, or come find me here, like normal people.”
I hid my smile at the outburst of this curmudgeonly, hairy, walking canvas of ink.
“See? The kid agrees with me,” Albert said, pointing one thick finger at me. I held my hands up in mock surrender.
“Don’t bring me into this, I’m just an innocent bystander.”
“Al, I swear to God…” the other tattoo artist trailed off into incoherent, dark mutterings as he resumed his work on the man lying face-down.
“Look, there’s instructions in the packet, it’s easy, you can’t go wrong. And if anyone asks where you got ‘em, just tell ‘em the old-fashioned way. We ain’t got no website−”
“Yes, the fuck we do!” interrupted the other artist. This was the most bizarre exchange I think I’d ever been privy to. Just then, I saw Jihoon heading back towards me, weaving his way through the stream of people heading in the opposite direction.
“I’ll be sure to give them your name and street address,” I reassured Albert, who nodded his thanks at me.
