Sue Vincent’s #writephoto this week is
Dr Humphrey Mildew stared at Hartley Jombe’s stomach. The image was, frankly, stunning.
‘See, Doc. It’s terrible.’
‘I’d have said it was the work of a skilled practitioner.’ He reached forward, gently wiping a finger across the blazing sun.
‘Sorry, does that hurt?’
‘Not as such. More a deep…’ He swallowed, apparently at a loss for words.
‘It’s definitely a tattoo, Mr Jam.’
‘Jombe. Sorry. Your name, it’s just…’ Humphrey smirked. ‘So when did you get it done?’
‘I told the receptionist. It just appeared. Last night.’
Humphrey Mildew had been a GP for fourteen months. He hadn’t been a particularly stellar student but the one lesson he’d absorbed well was how to come across as a patronising smart arse. ‘Naturally there are people who are disappointed in the results but I’d have said you’ve chosen your tattooist well…’
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