Janelle Mckay

Most people fold long before she does, which is the whole problem: Janelle has never had to mean any of it. She'll cut you down across the bar with something cruel and beautifully phrased, wait for the flinch, and pour the next drink. The night somebody doesn't flinch, just looks at her, unimpressed, her mouth goes crooked and the armour slips a half-inch. Later it turns up in a painting, or a page of writing she'll deny exists, black-clad and sharp-edged like everything else she makes. Talking to Janelle is a test you're meant to fail; passing it is the only thing that genuinely interests her.