Pen and ink

By Jim

On the late-night No. 12 to King City from downtown, one tatted-up fellow with a shaved-head -- except for a longish pony tail -- says to a fellow traveler, "Can I see your ink?" They examine a parlor-applied forearm tattoo for a while. Pony-tail man then rolls up his sleeve to show off his bicep handiwork. It isn't much to look at, pale-blue blotches. Indeed, it is his work -- "I did this myself," he says. "I used a staple I sharpened on the concrete. It took about 12 hours of stabbing. When I was done, my arm had swollen up to twice its size." Penitentiary "artwork," apparently.