That man who owns this place is walking with a limp. He is wearing all black from his shoes to his hat. White hair, white goatee.
Similarly, my dad walked with a limp as I recall.
The man in this place is wiping down tables with a wet rag. I’m in a biker-themed coffee shop.
My dad owned a 1972 Buick Electra 225 which was the largest car built after World War II. It was pond scum green with a green interior. You could lay down fully across the front or back seat.
I wrecked that car in college. Whoops.
Yesterday I went down to a tattoo convention. I have never been to a tattoo convention. There were lots of tattoos happening. The buzz of the tattoo gun, sorry, tattoo machine filled the air across the massive conference space. People with nose hooks and face tattoos meandered around.
What I found most interesting was how horrible the tattoo artists were at sales. As I walked from booth to booth, many were on their phones and hardly any would make eye contact. One guy I talked to had a hat on that said ‘F*ck Off, Respectfully”.
Why would you pay to have a booth at a tattoo convention where you need to sell tattoos and wear a hat telling people to f*ck off?
Not very inviting.
I learned that the most popular tattoo in the world is a butterfly. I learned that most small tattoos are $150 - $200. I learned that Monster Energy drinks are gross.
My girlfriend got a tattoo of a lizard wearing a hat from a guy who looked like an apache indian and was from Brooklyn. He was a vibe.
He wanted me to get a tattoo of a great white shark in a flamingo pool float.
I did not get a tattoo of a great white shark in a flamingo pool float.
We walked past over 70 booths and I’d say there were 4 that were friendly. Odd.
I should get a tattoo of something to remind me of my dad.
Ol Tom Humphreys died in a small motel room 31 years ago today. The autopsy said heart attack but I bet it was liver failure. He gave up. When they found him there was a picture of me sitting on top of his small suitcase.
The number three has been my lucky number my whole life. I was born 3/23 and I am named Trey because I am the third. My real name is, well, Tom Humphreys III. It’s not lost on me that my dad died on 3/3.
Life is a funny thing, tattoo artists are lousy at sales, and my lucky number is three.
Enjoy your week. Get a tattoo.
Trey
PS. If you are paying attention, you might notice I send my blogs out at 3:33 pm.
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