I've spent nearly four hours inside of a tattoo parlor over the course of the past twenty-four hours, though I've left inkless. Shortly after walking through the doors of Elm St. Tattoo, I recognized genius. There are trinkets covering every amount of space, save the area left for walking. The ceiling is turquoise and the large fuzzy turquoise dice dangling from above are like foreshadowing to the back corner where Oliver inks his magic. The friend I am accompanying has been going to Oliver for years, long before his tumultuous relationship with a reality TV star that led him to reality TV stardom himself. And judging from his shelves, he's been collecting dice since before he met my friend. He is surrounded by whatever-the-hell he wants. If it makes him happy he hangs it. And in this dream space he makes his living.
The place I currently work operates on the same concept. The owner loves robots, and they're everywhere.
A dear friend makes her money from the coffee shop she opened at the age of twenty five. Each interior room of the business looks like it could be plucked up and placed inside her house.
This is the genius I am speaking of. This is the intentional misdirection I am working towards. These are the people I am seeking out. This is the teeny tiny beginning of something big.
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