The Tattoo Artist

Timothy was a victim of drugs. He was 25 going on 50. His hair was red, balding on top, shaggy on his neck. His face was covered with freckles. Timothy had tattoos on his neck, shoulders, arms, chest and legs, and even on his ears. "Every time I got high, I got a new tat. Just imagine all the fun I had when the police asked me if I had any identifying marks. It took a whole page just to catalog my pictures. I'm some kind of an art gallery." "You know, " he said, "I used to be pretty good at my job. I learned electrical maintenance when I did a bid as a kid. They say that no knowledge is ever wasted. I put it to good use. I figured out how to pass alarm systems. That was my thing and I had been a pretty successful burglar. My specialty was robbing video stores and selling the tapes to other dealers. People placed orders with me and I would rob a store and sell them the videos they wanted. I was very reliable and I had a lot of steady customers. People liked me and they knew I could be trusted to deliver. I seldom got caught and I was pretty proud of my ability until I started to use cocaine. I got sloppy. I stopped going to see my parole officer, my urine was dirty. I had a bunch of warrants and the police were beginning to notice me and watch me. When I used cocaine, I thought that I was invisible. I was invisible until I used so much that I began to see things. One day I was so sure that I was being chased by tigers that I began to run frantically to find some place to hide and get away. I was so scared that I ran into the back of a police car to escape. Is that being scared or what? I got 9 1/2 to 18 years. No more tigers."