My camera couldn't capture the flecks of mica in this dyed black mortar which caused the wall to glisten as I strolled by. I turned my head to affectionately acknowledge the shimmering little flecks of light then stopped to gawk and relax into a trance.
Inevitably, someone stops to stare at me with my head a foot away from a brick wall. This happens more than I care to dsclose and usually an interview convenes in which I reluctantly participate.
I've developed a new response to the question about the tattoo on my forearm: Everyone in my coven has this tattoo. I know! It's rude but I can't spare the time to discuss the golden ratio.
This mortar is baited with sparkly bits:
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