Author name: Jenny Ng

I am always fascinated by the tattoo culture and the stories behind each individual's ink. As I get older, I begin to appreciate the artistry and skill that goes into creating a tattoo, and I eventually decided to create this blog to talk about every thing tattoo!

The Biker Who Knocked on a Dead Clock—Until the Ground Answered Back

At 7:00 a.m. sharp, the old biker slammed his grease-black knuckles against the dead factory’s time clock—and thirty seconds later the bulldozer screamed as the ground spit out lunch pails. I was there for content. That’s the rotten truth. I’d filmed him before—the town legend everyone called Ghost, real name Caleb Harrigan—rolling up on a

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Seven Bikers, One Sunflower Helmet — What They Did at Her Pinning Shook the Room

Part 1 – Boots in the Aisle, Sunflower High I heard the boots before I saw them—seven sets, heavy and certain, cutting straight down the aisle of our pinning ceremony—then the man in front lifted something small and impossible over his head: a child’s yellow motorcycle helmet painted with sunflowers, held like it could break

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The Little Girl Who Chose a Biker Dad—With Two Badges and One Soft Knock

She pressed POLICE into my left glove and FIRE into my right.“Hold them, please—I’m busy keeping my hands from shaking.” The girl couldn’t have been more than six. Freckles across the bridge of her nose. A pink dress under a too-big black windbreaker with reflective strips. Her fingers were cold, though the July sun was

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He Set an NDA on My Harley—Then I Found the SIM Card Hidden in Her Helmet

Part 1 — The Box and the NDA He set a velvet box on my Harley’s tank like it belonged there and slipped a packet of papers under the bungee cord. “Sign the NDA, Ray,” he said, smiling the kind of smile that has publicists on retainer. “Or you lose access to Maya tonight. Clean

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A Little Girl’s $7.28 Bought Back Her Mother’s Wind — The Day Our Town Learned to Listen

Part 1 — The Jar The kid didn’t ask for a selfie—she upended a greasy mason jar onto my boots: $7.28 in quarters and nickels, and a whisper, “Please teach my mom to ride again.” We were in the kind of parking lot that smells like frying onions and wet asphalt after a quick noon

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Loud Enough to Save | A Little Girl Clung to My Vest in the Store… Then I Read Her Notebook

Part 1 — The Note that Roared Forty phones swung toward me the moment a seven-year-old shoved a pink notebook into my vest and, in thick crayon, warned: “Back by 2 or someone gets hurt.” Fluorescent lights hummed over the grocery aisles. I was just a six-foot biker in a scuffed leather jacket, buying coffee

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Finish the Star | An 8-Year-Old Girl RAN Into the Highway to Save a Dying Biker

“He doesn’t get to die today.” The little girl stepped into live traffic with her palms up, chalk-red handprints flashing like flares. Brakes screamed. Horns exploded. Somewhere to my right, a semi juddered, its trailer shivering like a scared animal. I lay twisted on the shoulder, cheek on hot asphalt, tasting dust and pennies. The

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