El tatuaje. The tattoo.

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It's red. I like red. I fell in love with the word in the context it was in, when I was nineteen.
Two days ago when inquiring about someone else's tattoo (whilst stealing a car battery), he said our people don't get inked in color. It should always be black, he stressed. Then she explained the psychology behind the red, she said it's red because it's so she wouldn't see it. That it wasn't a noticeable color. But yet she doesn't like the red lipstick because I look like like the Putas in her pueblo. Yet, I must make a point, a materialistic point. I own seven red cardigans, twenty-two red lipsticks (not two reds are the same), four pair of assorted red shoes, three red tote bags (two I made myself) and lastly my favorite ear-plugs are red. Yet they claim it's red because, I am whitewashed and so my mother wouldn't see it. Just not because I like it.