It was easier to get up now that he wasn’t covering for the closing shift. As Sean loped towards the shop, Solomon and Gita were already outside. They both had big sunglasses shoved onto their noses and large cups of coffee in hand.

“Morning, boss,” Solomon said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sean said as he fished out the keys. He was sure Josh had given him the keys because he was by far the oldest apprentice—not because he was the most responsible. Still, it didn’t stop his fellow apprentices from giving him shit.

“I got you coffee,” Gita said. “JLT.” Just like that. Her white teeth shone bright against her caramel-colored skin. She’d managed to drop the last hint of her Mumbai accent, but she still used the slang that marked her as a foreigner.

“Thanks,” Sean said. He held the door open for both of them. Gita’s long, bright pink coffin nails looked equally feminine and dangerous. He couldn’t figure out how she inked or pierced with those.

“What’s the books say?” Sean called to Gita, who had shrugged out of her violet cashmere wrap to reveal a jewel-encrusted tank top with some anime character emblazoned across the chest.

She pulled her waist-length hair into a ponytail. “We’re booked ‘til three. All of us.”

“Really?” Sean couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

Soon enough, the first customer came in. The man was a giant, at least six-foot five and three hundred pounds. Not all of it was fat. “You get my email?” the man asked Sean.

“Just printing it out now.” He glanced at the man’s exposed arm. “The outline’s done, and solid,” he said. “Why didn’t you go back to the original artist?”

“He died,” the customer said with a shrug. Like it happened all the time.

“Oh. Gustav Klimt, nice,” Sean said. It took some of the joy out of his work that he was basically filling in a human coloring book. Still, as he settled in for a three-hour session and the giant began to doze off, he tried to do the Austrian symbolist justice as he brought Hope II to life. The man’s full sleeve would take another three sessions, minimum, but for now Sean focused on the forearm and Byzantine design of the golden dress.

When he was forty minutes in, he didn’t even bother with the numbing cream anymore. He had to shake the man awake at the three-hour mark. The giant wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry, I tend to doze off,” he said. “Just so relaxing.”

“Yeah,” Sean said. “It happens.”

The man admired his forearm. “Fucking a hundred, man,” he said. “Hey, you do that new shit? You know, where you put someone’s remain in some ink—”

“Uh, no,” Sean said. “I’ve heard of that, but I think you’ll have a tough time finding it. Can’t say how safe or effective it really is, either.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Don’t want to gamble on fucking this up anyway.”

As soon as he’d finished ringing him up and started thinking about popping some kratom, AA-approved (save for the craving for a whiskey to go with it), a woman who had to be at least sixty walked in. “You got time for a walk-in?” she asked. Her milky blue eyes were framed in nearly transparent lashes. She had a good inch of gray coming in at the roots.

“Sure,” Sean said. “For …”

“Just some quick flash work,” the woman said. “I just have a craving if you have the time.”

Sean straightened up. This old woman knew what she was doing. He handed her the book and she followed him to the chair. “How about this?” she asked, and pointed to the silhouette of a poised, Asian-inspired cat.

“It’s cute,” Sean said. Before he could say anything else, she pulled up her blouse to reveal a torso almost completely covered in ink. The fresher work was largely high-grade and gorgeous, though he could instantly pick out some ink that had to be forty years old in that tell-tale cornflower blue.

“Anywhere you can find a spot,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, and started to prep the needle.

“Don’t give me that ‘ma’am,’ bullshit.”

“You got it.”

Sean’s other scheduled appointment of the day was a no-show, but the walk-in traffic was strong. “What’s up with today?” he asked Solomon as they both grabbed a water out of the back.

“Full moon. The crazies are out,” Solomon said.

That was right. Tattoos and haircuts, something about full moons made people hungry for both.

Twenty minutes before he was off, the sun started to set and lit up the streets with pink. Sean’s phone buzzed in his jeans as he helped reconcile the register for the next shift with Gita.

“Parking is hell, turn up the street with the crazy orange house for your best odds.” It was Harper. He liked it that she didn’t play games, didn’t wait for him to text her.

The bells chimed as he exited. He felt weird, off. Normally when he went to a party, he came fully armed with booze and maybe a little weed. This time, he was literally empty-handed. He’d never realized before how much he’d depended on that armor.

“Sure, it’s uncomfortable. There are a lot of uncomfortable things to getting sober.” Joon-Ki’s voice rang in his head. He repeated that, often, to Sean. Let’s just add going to a party with no bud and no booze to the list.

Sean slid into the white Chevy Nova, bought on eBay while he was still in the halfway house from the insurance money from the accident, and fired it up. It was pristine, even at nearly fifty years old, and guzzled gas like an alkie. No wonder, we’re kindred spirits, Sean thought. He’d fallen for that car as soon as he’d seen the pictures.

He followed the GPS commands to a little neighborhood in west Hollywood. The houses were older, but well-maintained. As he peered closer, he saw that most of the houses had been turned into duplexes, triplexes or apartments.

As soon as he turned onto Harper’s street, he knew where the party was. The music poured out of the cute little fairytale house. He rounded the corner by the orange house, found a spot, and took a deep breath before he got out of the car.

Sean walked up the cobblestone pathway and barely dodged a kid who was doubled over and vomiting. Two girls, one with dreadlocks and the other with tight ringlet curls, made out on the swing porch. Yeah, this is a party.

He steeled himself and walked in. Immediately, he was hit with a rush of nostalgia and incredible need. A couple kneeled over the coffee table and took bumps through a rolled up bill. A girl in a dress hiked up to her ribcage was already passed out on the couch. In the kitchen, he could see people doing shots, while the dining room nook hosted a game of strip poker. Three of the four girls wore nothing but panties and did a shit job of keeping their arm across shit boob jobs.

He began to make his rounds in search of Harper. The scent of the sticky beer on the floor and the sickly sweet cocktails was intoxicating. His mouth salivated. If I don’t find her in five minutes, I’m out of here. He wished painfully for a pack of beer to carry, like a security blanket. I wouldn’t even have one, I swear.

Finally, he found her on the back patio. She sipped a Diet Dr. Pepper and stared at an unlit cigarette between two slender fingers. She was wrapped artfully in a yellow silk material that criss-crossed her chest and tied around her neck Grecian-style.

She looked up through thick black lashes like she’d been waiting for him. Maybe she had been. A wide grin spread across her gorgeous face. Even from where he stood, he could make out the light spray of freckles across her nose. “Hey,” she said, and set the cigarette aside. She tucked a lock of thick auburn hair behind an ear.

I could get used to that smile. “Not much of a hostess, huh?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “These people are ridiculous.”

“Nice house, though.”

She shrugged. “My agent hooked me up with this place.”

Agent? She really was a model.

“How about we go for a walk?”

“Sounds good,” he said, happy to distance himself from the booze.

Sean didn’t want to even come close to being tempted. But I’ll take what I can get.