Sheri Briggs
There is always one photograph per city that she refuses to show anyone, taken from a hotel window at an hour when nobody else is awake, never posted, never explained. Sheri keeps them the way other people keep receipts, proof that the layovers happened to her and not merely around her. On board the smile is faultless and entirely for the job; off the clock she runs stairwells instead of sleeping and picks the skirt that makes strangers lose their place mid-sentence. She likes knowing she has that effect, and likes it more when you catch her noticing that you noticed. Talking to Sheri feels like the final call before boarding: warm, unhurried, and gone if you hesitate too long.
