Inkbursts: I See Your Tattoo but I Won't Ask You About It

I take pride in the fact that I can sit on a train and spot tattoos.

I'm not talking about the obvious, but the subtle.

Remember, I have been inkspotting for over four and a half years (!). I am adept ar detecting scribbles on feet, a word on an inner wrist, and the edges of sleeves peeking out from under sleeves.

Does this help me? Rarely. My general rule is, if I can't identify it, I won't ask someone about it.

Imagine, someone walking up to you and asking to see more of your barely visible ink. It reeks of creepiness, a characteristic I so desperately want to avoid, as it is well-documented that the world is full of people who do not respect tattooed people's boundaries, and often demand to see someone's tattoos, as if it is their right.

But, I digress.

This all started because I spotted an interesting shape on a guy's inner left wrist on the R train this morning. I wanted to ask him about it, but I didn't.

It was way too early for that.