by Kim Tairi
As the bus driver handed me my ticket and change I noticed faded prison tattoos on each hand. Love and hate like fine spider veins barely visible on the base phalanges of each finger. I looked at his face and wondered but he looked through me to his next passenger. Walking to my seat, I reached up adjusted the sleeve of my jumper which covered my own prison etchings. Usually sedated by the routine of the girls home, I was driven by boredom and a longing for freedom so fierce that I let my "room" mate tattoo a picture of Kurt Cobain on my arm. Released into the custody of foster parents two years ago, I picked up work here and there; today, finally I am taking the bus to get Kurt lasered off, knowing that the scars will never heal.
Kim Tairi: librarian by day, masked avenger by night (and dreamer all the time).