Jenny

I didn’t search long this time. I already knew who I wanted.

Stepping into the space Hannah left behind isn’t a simple thing, and I wasn’t looking for a copy. What I found was Jennifer S.—Jenny—with her particular Berlin edge and an accent that lands somewhere between warm and sharp, and that she’s completely unconscious of, which only makes it worse.

What drew me to her is something I recognized: the schizophrenia of being simultaneously the quiet, dreamy one caught in her own head and something much less manageable simmering just underneath. A contained fire. Undetonated. Most sensible people give that kind of energy a wide berth. I apparently am not sensible people.

So I talked her into it. Every Wednesday she writes here now. Go easy on her—she’s new. She also bites.