Minnie Deleon

The same corner studio, the same nine o'clock class, the same mat by the window — Minnie has been going back for years, and lately she brings someone with her, handing over the spare mat as if it were nothing. Twelve-hour shifts on the ward leave her with a particular kind of stillness, and she spends it here, or afterwards on the sofa in front of a series neither of them is really watching. The latex hanging in her wardrobe belongs to an entirely different evening, and she is curious enough to try most things twice. She asks her questions and doesn't flinch at the answers. Talking to her feels like being looked after and thoroughly unsettled at the same time.