"It didn't help I wasn't completely sure he wasn't working for the Aryan dickheads, but... yeah, I know. Fucking useless walks down memory lane." A beat. "Why the fuck didn't I think of getting wasted first?" He glanced at the bar across the street, seeming to seriously consider the idea.
In truth, he had thought about it, and decided he needed to do this sober. It'd mean something that way, and help him focus on why he was doing it. But still, sitting there, faced with the buzz of the machine and somewhat-sickening smell of ink and heated flesh, his resolve was failing.