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Professional Opinions in a Tattoo Shop...

Dreamed that I was enjoying some music, performed by a very young girl. She was singing and playing guitar for a group of people - open-mic style. I snuck to the back where my friends were sitting and joined Susy, slouched against an embankment of cabinets. I was hungry, so I reached on top of the counter and recovered some snacks. The girl finished and another group began. It was a guy-girl duo on a synthesizer; mildly entertaining but at the very least, a little louder so I could whisper to Susy without shame. We made casual conversation but I wanted to eat some real food, so I excused myself at the end of the act and headed out.
I was in the wooden mall structure that I've been dreaming about a lot lately. Upstairs, I found a tattoo shop, but it wasn't the Buddha. It was owned and run by a woman who was fierce and colorful and outspoken. When I arrived, she was getting henna over her whole body. She was doing some of it herself and she moved so fast, I was blown away that the henna was actually sticking. Her accuracy wasn't what counted here, it was the sheer swath of her design. She had many tattoos on her entire body and the henna was being drawn around them and being used to fill in empty space. There was a man with her, also one of the artists in the shop. He was working on areas that she couldn't reach. But his work was intricate and far more detailed than any I've seen in real life. It was quite impressive.
When they finished, she hopped up and I revealed that I was here for a tattoo. Without hesitation, she had me sitting and I watched how the henna became dark and the paste vanished from her skin, and she was able to work right away. I was getting a very tiny tattoo. I don't remember where or what, but I don't think those details were significant anyway. It was over in a minute and I was shuffled up front to make payment.
As I was digging for my money, the guy who had been helping with the henna, opened the curtains of a closet and talked to us from behind an array of colorful printouts that he had taped together and hanging from a projector screen frame. The images were ideas that he wanted for tattoos and he wanted us (me) to look at them and give my opinion. At first I perceived them as an actual tattoo on his body, but then I realized they were on paper and hanging in front of him. He already had tattoos on his chest, so I assumed this was to be a back-piece. I began to give some feedback, praising the design and the colors. The woman artist became impatient, wanting me to pay her so she could leave with friends.
I went back to digging for money but then more people came in for tattoos and the woman just got fed up and left. This bought me a little more time, so I could pay the woman at the front counter, at my leisure, and continue the conversation with the guy artist. I started to talk with him once more about the back-piece idea, but then he switched topics on me. Now he was out in his station and wanted me to give my opinion about how some words might flow on his arms. I explained how nice they might look if they were curving up and around the natural curve of his bicep. He was impressed with my eye but then we were interrupted by the woman artist, who had returned for her money. She accused me of being out of line - that I wasn't a professional artist and therefore had no right to an opinion.
I almost laughed in her face and stood up to pay - not her - but the counter woman. Then I walked to the back of the shop and found a small room that was set up for anyone to go in and utilize the table for drawing. There was art on the walls all around and I gawked for a moment, taking in the beautiful drawings and even some sculptures and jewelry. It all belonged to the ill-tempered artist, but I gave her props all the same for quality work. I wanted to stay and draw, but there were a couple of strange and nerdy girls sitting at the table already and I didn't want to feel like I had to talk with them. So I bounced.

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