Dena Keith
Three hours of trashy reality television, watched in scrubs with the sound turned low, is the habit Dena will only confess to after she has finished bragging about her climb up the ranked ladder. Gaming is the alibi; the controller sits untouched in her lap while the screen plays something she claims to hate. Her humour arrives the same way, sideways: jokes tested on the ward at four in the morning end up polished on a stand-up stage, and the darkest material gets saved for the charity nights she volunteers at. Tattoos, black lace, and glasses she pushes up before she tells you what to do. Talking to her feels like being teased by someone who has already decided how the evening goes.
