The bodega's facade is weathered brick. It's wedged on a triangular lot, on the inside of a gentle curve of the street it faces. The awkward layout combined with the inarguable convenience of its location has allowed it to prosper, making it as unattractive to developers and as it is indispensable to the local residents. It's older than most of those residents, having survived decades, through multiple waves of gentrification and decline.
Older than most, but not older than the two old men sitting on the weathered bench just outside the entrance, sipping coffee and watching the neighborhood go about its business.
"I dunno, Eshwar. I grew up on the instant stuff." says one, a clean shaven white man. His sparse, snowy hair is carefully combed. He wears an old bomber jacket over a blue button-up cotton shirt. One leg of his khaki pants is tied in a neat knot where the corresponding limb ends just below the knee. A pair of battered crutches are tucked in their usual spot behind the bench.
"It is only for you, my friend," replies the gaunt Sikh sharing the bench with him, "that I make my son stock a can of those awful grounds."
The vet grins and takes another sip. His turbaned, mustachioed companion chuckles and raises his own ceramic mug to his nose. The aroma released by the escaping steam speaks to fresh-roasted beans, recently ground. He enjoys the odors for a moment before taking his own sip. They sit in companionable silence for a while, watching the neighborhood move around them.
It's fairly late on a Sunday morning, and the mix of people moving past the old men begins to shift from neighbors they trade nods with to include more young urbanites. Sophisticates descending from their downtown condos to do a little shopping in the esoteric mix of businesses the neighborhood currently hosts. The old men, and perhaps the bodega itself, understand that this is the beginning of a new surge in gentrification. Some of the downtown people will decide to relocate to the area, because they enjoy the atmosphere.
A little bubble of their own reality will follow them, and those like them, and a little of what they are will mix into the local flavor. Then too many will come, drawn by the whiff of the familiar in the scent of the exotic. Eventually, seeing the demographics shift, outside businesses will begin to buy out the local shops. Soon rents will rise, and the locals will move somewhere more affordable as the flood of urbanites continues. Eventually the neighborhood will be as bland as can be, and the cycle of decay will begin. The old men know this, but they understand that nothing will prevent the circle from completing again, so they don't talk about it. They just sit and sip and watch and enjoy the sunlight on old bones.
A young woman walks by slowly, peering in shop windows as she explores the street. She smiles at the old men, who both nod to her as she goes by. Eventually, their view of her is blocked by the curve of the street, and the veteran addresses the Sikh.
"I know we don't usually comment, and I dunno how you people... uh..."
Eshwar chuckles. "Your ignorance is willful. Do you think I am blind to beauty?"
The old vet just grins in reply, and they continue to sip their drinks.
----
Emily smiles at the two old men sitting in front of the little store. This neighborhood is so amazing! They look like an advertisement for, oh, something diverse.
She should really look into apartment prices around here, it's so lovely and... *ethnic*. All the little shops!
She pauses in front of one, just around the bend from the store. The window is filled with hundreds of small squares of white paper, and each one has a little drawing on it. Birds and faces and buildings and just shapes. She doesn't see any price tags, and there's nothing naming the shop, just a 'Come In, We're Open!' sign tucked into the bottom of the front window.
Emily pushes the door open, setting off a tinkling of chimes. The inside of the shop is a little dim after the brightness of the morning sun, and she gives her eyes a moment to adjust. Looking around, there are more drawings tacked to almost every flat surface, most of them just stuck in place with a thumbtack or a piece of scotch tape. One corner of the store is taken up by a big old barber chair, the kind that reclines and elevates so men can get a shave. There's a counter with a blackboard behind it, listing numbers next to a list of prices.
"Good morning, then, miss, can I help you?"
Emily starts, and jerks away from the voice. Almost at her elbow is a tall, striking, dark-skinned woman, dreadlocks pulled back into a sort of ponytail. She's wearing a smock over street clothes.
"Oh! I'm sorry! Uh, I just saw all the pictures in the window, and I couldn't figure out if you're selling them or... um, what do you sell? I'm Emily."
The woman smiles. Her teeth are very white. "Hello, then, Emily. Call me Ada. I do tattoos."
"Ohhh! I get it now!" All the little pictures make sense, and the numbers on the blackboard must be sizes, or maybe times, followed by prices. "I'm sorry for bothering you, I'm not really a tattoo sort of person. Do you mind if I just look at the drawings for a little bit?"
The woman smiles again. "Of course. You never know when you might be inspired. I think a little ink would suit you. I'll be in the back if you need me."
"Thank you!"
Emily watches her vanish through a door she hadn't noticed. The woman moved so quietly! She looks around, and walks closer to a wall, and begins examining the pretty drawings in minute detail.
----
"I usually lock up the shop for lunch. Do you want me to leave you here?"
Emily blinks. How long had she been looking at the drawings? She's reluctant to stop.
"Oh if it's no trouble, I'd love to keep looking. Your art is so good."
The artist looks at her for a few moments, an odd expression on her face. "One moment."
She steps into the back room, then returns a few seconds later, holding something like a large photo album.
"Come over here, you'll want to sit down to look at this, it's too heavy to just hold up."
The tattoo artist steps over to the barber chair, and Emily follows. She watches as the older woman kicks a lever under the chair, and it settles lower with a hydraulic hiss. Another lever un-reclines it, and she waves Emily into it. Once she's seated, Ada gives her the surprisingly heavy album.
"Take all the time you want. These are some of my favorite pieces. If you finish with it just leave it on the counter. I should be back in about twenty minutes, are you okay being locked in here?"
"Oh of course, thank you so much for taking this much trouble for me."
Ada waves a long-fingered hand. "As much as you're looking, I half expect you to talk yourself into a tattoo before you leave today."
Emily grins. "I doubt it, but I appreciate this so much."
"All right then, I'll be back soon."
The door clicks shut with a tinkle of chimes as she steps into the sunlight, and Emily hears the lock slide home a moment later. Adjusting the heavy book in her lap, she flips it open to the first drawing. It's an abstract, unlike the art on the walls.
Emily shudders involuntarily. She's unable to express why, but the image almost immediately repulses her. Swallowing a sudden burst of bile, she quickly flips the page. The next image is much better, but still offputting. The next is lovely, and warm. The next prickly.
She slowly works her way deeper into the album, occasionally moving more swiftly when she finds an upsetting shape. For the most part, they're delightful.
----
Ada pauses as she passes the bodega. "Hi, Eshwar. Where's Ray this morning?"
"Good afternoon, Miss Ada. He is here, just answering a call of nature. How are you this lovely day?"
"It's slow, but Sundays usually are. I've got a possible customer looking through some designs in the shop."
"Very good! And how is your brother?"
"Oh, you know Carl, he never changes. He's supposed to stop by later, I'll tell him to come say hi."
"Excellent, excellent. Well, I will not keep you from your customer. Do you have a good feeling about them?"
"I'll know if I do here in a minute."
With a wave goodbye, she passes around the bend and unlocks her shop."
----
"Well, I guess I *do* have a good feeling about you."
Ada enters her shop to find Emily staring down at a page in the album. Her mouth is slightly agape, and her unblinking gaze reveals eyes that track over the pattern in front of her, over and over.
The artist walks up and looks at the design the shorter girl has chosen. She whistles. "Well, you don't fuck around, do you?"
She presses two fingers against the bottom of the girl's jaw, first closing her mouth, and then raising her head, forcing her to break her line of sight away from the design. She stares at Ada.
"So," Ada says, "this is the design you want?"
"... yes."
Ada closes the book and heaves it off of the girl's lap, turning to place it on the counter. Turning back to Emily, she gently tugs the dazed girl's hand until she stands up.
"Turn around."
Emily does nothing for a moment, then slowly turns until she's facing away. Ada reaches forward and lifts the hem of the girl's shirt, exposing the flawless expanse of the pale skin of her back. She's wearing high-waisted pants. Ada places her palm against the girl's spine, fingers aimed downward, and slips her hand into the waistband.
Her fingers slip downward against the unresisting girl's skin until they discover the top of the cleft of her buttocks. Pulling them back slightly, she presses with the tips of her fingers just above the crack, and whispers in Emily's ear, "You want it right here?"
"... yes."
"Take off your pants."
She steps back from the girl and watches the show. Emily is wearing fairly demure panties, but they shouldn't pose a problem during the inking. Ada steps around her to the chair and begins pulling levers. The leather contorts and clunks into a new, unlikely configuration, and she leads Emily onto it. The girl straddles a raised hump and leans forward as the artist presses against her spine. The result is that the globe of Emily's pale ass is effectively hanging in space while she leans against a support, her legs drawn forward and resting in a pair of valleys designed for that purpose.
Ada gently runs her hand down Emily's back and gives her ass a little squeeze. The girl starts slightly, and shakes her head.
"Wh... what is... what are..."
