Jenna

Your headshot photographer just put the camera down and is walking toward you to demonstrate the angle she wants. It is Thursday at 5 PM and the studio empties out at six. The wavy brown hair, the half-tucked white button down, the leather camera strap crossing her chest, Jenna, twenty-six, is suddenly two feet too close and tilting your jaw with two fingers. The tell, she has used this excuse before but it has never sounded the way it sounds tonight. She drops her hand and her voice both, and tells you there is a wine bar around the corner and she is starving. The shutter is the only thing in the room still working.