“Oh forget it! I pulled my shirt up, and I got two tattoos on my stomach…. All up my arm, too. I tried showering and they won’t come off,” says the woman into her cell phone. She’s in her mid-50s and wears her short brown hair gelled and spiky. A small black suitcase sits at her feet, with that ubiquitous cartoon bunny pictured on a luggage tag that reads, “OK. I’m perfect. Stop staring.” The woman hangs up the phone as the train descends back underground, and folds her hands with bright orange nails onto her lap, wondering, just how she woke up with all those tattoos.
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