The attic of the shed is half tattoo shop, part kitchen, part living room.
Richie-Rich is busy. His two young boys keep on interrupting, door swinging open--all freckles and incessant questions. Richie makes them leave. There is a string of people waiting their turn, half of them smoking. His wife, Amber, gets up from the lightbox to close the door. They thunder down the stairs, laughing.
He's been tattooing for years and he fills his chair mostly by word of mouth. Go to Richie, he's the best.
Richie Rich will do ya good.