That lad on the bus yesterday had a tattoo creeping up his neck — proper intricate, like a family crest but with a fox instead of a lion — and I spent the whole ride wondering what story made him put it there for everyone to see. Made me think about the phoenix on my own shoulder blade, the one I got at twenty-three after Mam said I'd never amount to anything, and how it still burns a little when I catch it in the mirror. What's the one you'd never cover up, even if you had to explain it to your