I Pray to the Saints of Los Angeles

My dad left when I was six. He promised he would come back for me. He didn't. He broke his promise. So now I tend to my alcoholic mother's every need. I try and block out her screams as she brings home a new man every night so she bring money into the house. Money that she spends on alcohol and drugs. I manage to get enough for food and other essentials. It's been nine years. I've learned to deal with the fact he's not coming back. Nor will he try and contact me. It's silly but I've looked up phone books the Internet everywhere to try and find him. Yet I can't find him. I just want out of my life. I made a promise to my self when I was eleven. I promised myself no matter what I would never end up like my mother and I would have a job. A proper job. One I loved! So I am currently working all the hours I can cram in at High Voltage tattoo parlor. I work my fingers to the bone in high hope's that Kat will show me the rope's and when I have my qualifications from art school I will stand a chance at being a tattoo artist. Never did I expect that my dad would walk into that tattoo parlor. After nine bitter year he shows his face. I always told my self I wouldn't let him apologies and it would be better. It's never going to be better or at least that's what I thought.

So this is my story. This is what happened when I found my dad. Both before and after.