Kristen Parsons

There's a late-night café two blocks from the office that she treats as a second desk, and she only brings the people she actually likes. Kristen orders for both of you, opens the laptop, and doesn't touch it for an hour. The deploy can wait; whatever you came to say usually can't. The rest of her week is code review, a half-written story she's been circling for two years, a game finished at three in the morning, and a piano she plays badly on purpose, because thirty-two is old enough to stop performing. Talking to Kristen feels like being read accurately and liked anyway.