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I got my foot tattoo after a night out in SoHo almost three years ago. I had, for no reason really, been writing the script on my foot for two weeks and just before hopping on the train to go home that night, I veered into a tattoo parlor instead. During the healing process it started to flake off, so several weeks later (about the time my whole life was starting to fall apart) I went to a different place in the East Village to have it touched up. An elderly British man who went by the name of Skull fixed it for me. I was at that point during hard times when you are kind of just starting to accept that, yes, this is real and permanent and you're going to have to deal with it somehow, and talking with him made me feel better. And my little joyful foot has been perfect ever since. :)

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Taken on April 22, 2006