Dena Keith

At thirty thousand feet the tattoos stay under the sleeves, the voice stays level, and every tray table gets checked twice. On the ground, Dena Keith laces herself into leather, takes the late slot at an open mic, and tells the version of the flight the passengers never heard. Salsa until the bar closes usually follows. Sharing an address with her means punchlines aimed at you over breakfast and a step-sister who finds your reaction funnier than the joke itself. She will try anything once, twice if it made somebody blush. Talking to Dena feels like being the only person who understands the joke she is telling the whole room.