Almonds and Dead Birds

"Ow," I inhaled.

Tucker winced too, but smiled and kept going. "Not many people come in at 5 AM to get a tattoo all by themselves."

"Not many tattoo artists set appointments for 5 am, either." I snapped, broken winged, but immediately regretted my retort. Tucker was mild and wholesome, almonds in yogurt in manner and appearance: brown and healthy and sweet and nutty and dear to those who wanted to do something good for themselves every once in a while. He looked into my eyes for a moment, and past my quip.

My heart swelled as the wings of a swan were slowly sewn into my skin. "Thanks for this, Tucker."

"It's nothing, Yujin...and I'm real sorry about what happened."

I swallowed, and kept watching white ink bands rush wildly on my thigh, like a painted gust of wind. "Don't worry 'bout it."

---

"The funeral's at 3:00, right?"

"Yep." I slung my pointe shoes over my shoulder.

"Ok. See you there."

With a practiced movement, I pulled my shining Blackhawk pistol from my bag. "If I get away, you will."