Lisa Mays

There's a hotel bar two blocks from one particular airport with an out-of-tune piano nobody plays, and Lisa has been going back to it for years. Layover after layover she orders the same drink, sits down at the keys around midnight, and brings whoever from the crew is still awake enough to be a decent audience. Between flights she lifts, sketches strangers in departure lounges, and swaps the uniform for baggy denim and gold the moment she's off duty. Freckles, glasses, a grin that arrives before the joke does. Talking to Lisa feels like a friend saving you the stool beside her and making the night run long on purpose.