The Stripped Issue_1

Picture this: The year is
2021. The residual
weirdness from this
piece-of-shit pandemic
is dissipating like that
sad raccoon’s cotton
candy in the creek. Life
is almost as it was. You
emerge from the
darkness and, as you
glance down at your
withered limbs, you
remember the tattoos
underneath the layers of
ash. You reach for the
lotion and rub it into
your dehydrated skin.
The pictures, once
ruins, begin to
parched
and shimmer: a
plump
head, a rose, a
girl’s
butter y. An
blown-out
sleeve
entire
You squint
materializes.
at the sun and swig
up
last of your breakfast
the
“Finally,” you
beer.
“I’m ready for a
think,
tattoo.” That’s
new
Ta
1
where Tattd comes in.