The Electrician’s Mate twitched involuntarily as Sailor Jerry ran more color through the lines of the drawing he’d traced on the kid’s chest. The piece had morphed over the six-hour time period since he’d dropped the ten-spot on the tattooist’s tray and took the chair.
Jerry’s art was known as being mystical and as proof, what had started out as a half-naked Hula dancing Hawaiian girl had transformed into an anchor and then a battleship. As he worked, the battleship began to list, then it slipped beneath the waters’ surface.
“So, what ship you stationed on, sailor?”
“The Arizona, sir.”