Graham watched as Joe emerged from the tattoo parlour. Wincing, Joe walked over to the car and opened the door, sliding into the passenger seat.
"Well?" asked Graham. "Did you go through with it?"
"Of course. You thought I was going to chicken out?"
"Let's see, then."
Joe gingerly rolled up his sleeve to show a tattoo across his wrist. The skin was pink and sore-looking, and black letters spelled out JMT.
"You had your own initials tattooed?" Graham's lips twitched.
"What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing." Graham shook his head. "I suppose it'll come in useful if you ever lose your memory."
"Ha, ha."
"I thought you might get something more sentimental," said Graham, starting the car engine.
"Well, I did." Joe pulled down his shirt to reveal another, smaller tattoo on his shoulder.
Graham looked closely. "Is that a wheelchair?"
"For my dad." Joe nodded. "And to remind myself not to accept limitations."
Graham looked at Joe's stubborn face.
"I'm sure your father would be touched."
"If you're laughing at me—"
"I'm not," Graham said quietly. Joe looked at him and nodded.
"Let's get home, then." Joe pulled on his seatbelt. "I could do with a large scotch after that."