Coffee And Ink
Most mornings I’d get up and walk down the street to get myself the best cup of coffee in town - not at some fancy café’ mind you - but rather, Steve’s Tattoos. Steve would great me with his cobble stone smile and a hot cup of Joe, “Aye, mate.” Steve’s place, aside from Rocky’s Gym was one of the only places I felt comfortable. Tiny, Steve’s buddy, human canvas and fellow gym rat would partake in the caffeine experience and always offer to give me a ride to the gym. Most of the time I would politely decline as the walk to and from Rocky’s Gym was my only alone time. That was where I could think, stretch me legs and get stared at by every fuckin’ passerby in a dinky car or miniature truck (so fuckin’ miniature that they would only have three wheels!) driving on the wrong goddamned side of the skinny little road.
Before the gym one morning about half way through the tour Al Green, Cincinnati Red and I decided to go to Steve’s for more then coffee¾for ink! I asked Legend if he wanted to go but he just looked at me as if I was mad (‘mad’ is what adjective British people use instead of ‘crazy’). Al got his wife’s name written in Japanese letters on his wrist, Red (being the hardcore wrestler of the crew) got barbed wire around his bicep and me, I had ‘Happiness’ written across my neck: A souvenir from England that stung like a bitch.