It was on a whim, but not really. Bambam was spinning out of control. She didn’t give a shit. It was just a tattoo. Offered by the over generous weak willed dipshit she had attached herself to because why not? She had nothing else to do.

Living this drunk and numb existence was life right now. He offered, she said yes. Bambam sat in the chair. The young tattoo artist sat down and started talking to her. Barely older than Bambam herself she asked about Dipshit knowing in her voice.

Something sparked in Bambam’s brain. Woke it up a little maybe?

Bambam volunteered the info and that moment. That connection. Poured a sliver of lIfe back into Bambam.

“So what do you want to get today?”

Bambam pointed to the space above her heart “The word ‘Shithead’”

The artists brows raised with amused intrigue.

“It’s what my mom calls me when I make her laugh because I am bugging her” Bambam chuckled.

“I love that!” exclaimed the artist.

On the end of one the rare anecdotes of her life Bambam began a fortunate and needed friendship.

This day she would wake up a little and mark her heart with a happy memory.

It was a good day to be Bambam the Brave.

After all it is the little things that matter most