Tracy, a bartender who DOES know she has AGS

Although she didn't realise it, Tracy was attracting a lot of attention.

It was a crisp autumn afternoon. The sky above was very nearly cloudless, allowing the sun to beam down upon the ocean and the beach. Not that it did much. A few people, dressed warmly, walked their dogs, but nobody would be foolish enough to sunbathe in this weather.

Tracy stood on a street corner about fifty metres back from the beach, on the corner of a concrete sidewalk. A few cars drove past as people with beach houses made their way into the town centre for their daily commute. She was dressed in a pair of knee-high black leather boots, a pair of faded blue jeans, a t-shirt and an open black leather jacket. It was not her clothing - or a lack thereof - that was drawing attention.

Tracy was tall for a woman. Six feet tall, in fact, with a mane of wild red hair that flowed down to her shoulders in curled ringlets. Her skin was fair, and her face free of freckles; she had a softness and openness to her face that made her very pleasing to look at, and a pair of dazzling green eyes. Her jeans served to highlight her curvaceous, apple-like behind, and beneath her t-shirt was a pair of firm c-cup breasts. It was not her beauty, however, that was attracting attention.

What WAS attracting attention was the way she stood behind a thick wooden post, her eyes darting across the street nervously as if she were spying on somebody. She kept staring down at a piece of paper clutched firmly in her hand, and muttering "AGS" to herself every time she did. People couldn't hear what she was muttering, but the sight was unusual enough that they were crossing the street rather than walking past her.

Across the street, where her gaze was fixated, was a tattoo parlour. There were two people visible inside, although neither of them had noticed Tracy as yet; one was a tall man in his thirties, bald, with a thick black beard and a nose ring. His sleeveless white top displayed well-muscled arms covered in his own artwork. The other person was a woman, barely in her twenties, with a pixie haircut dyed pink. She, too, had a nose ring and her arms were also covered in tattoos.

It was another three minutes of waiting before a customer approached the store. Another man, this one in his mid-twenties. He stepped inside, and began talking to the two tattoo artists.

"Come on. Come on." Tracy muttered. "Pick the man; go with the man."

After a few minutes of conversation, the big, bald tattoo artist waved the customer into the back. The two of them disappeared through a doorway, leaving the pink-haired woman alone.

Steeling herself, Tracy moved away from her hiding place and crossed the road. The door jingled musically as she opened the door. The pink haired woman smiled at her as she entered.

"Hi there, how can I help you?" she asked.

"I need a tattoo. On my arm." Tracy replied.

"Okay then. Well, we have a sample book with some artwork here-"

"No art. I just want some words written, if that's okay. On my forearm. As a reminder."

"Oh. Okay then. Uh. What is it you want written?"

Tracy's eyes darted towards the back door. There was no sound or movement there; the men were still back there somewhere. Good. Now came the hard part. She took a deep breath before she answered.

"I need it to say 'You have Absolute Gullibility Syndrome.'"

The pink haired woman's eyes widened. "Woah. You mean you have-"

"Yes." Tracy replied. "I was diagnosed this morning, and... please. I need a reminder."

"Okay then. Well, if you want to step in the back-"

"What about the other guy? The other tattoo guy and the customer? I don't want to see them."

"That's okay." Pink replied with a smile. "We have separate rooms." Pink moved towards the door and opened it, revealing a small corridor beyond. Tracy could see three doors; behind the nearest one, she could hear the gentle buzzing of a tattoo needle. "My room is at the end of the hallway, on the left. The door on the right is the bathroom if you need it."

"Thanks." Tracy sighed in relief. "The medicine won't arrive for another week, and I was just so worried about being taken advantage of."

"Well, don't you worry yourself." Pink said with a smile. "You head on down; I need to close the shop up since we're both occupied."

Tracy smiled in return, and made her way down the hallway feeling greatly relieved. She might have been less relieved, however, if she saw how the pink haired girl stared at her behind as she walked.

"Damn." she whispered to herself. "That's one fine ass."

Pink-haired waited until the buzzing stopped, then entered the room. The customer was sitting on a chair without his shirt on, while the bald-headed tattoo artist was drawing a skull on his forearm.

"Hey Bert," Pink said "I've got a customer in my room, and I'm going to need some privacy. She'll be removing some of her clothes, you know?"

The bald man gave a sigh. "Damn - you always get the best jobs. Alright Cass, no worries. But, ah, remember that we're professionals, okay? I know you like the ladies, but try not to gawp or grab or anything, okay?"

"Oh, don't you worry about a thing." Cass said as she left the room. "I'll be strictly looking only..."

"Maybe." she thought to herself.