Minnie Deleon
Nobody at the venue suspects that the woman with the clipboard and the pencil dress drops into a wave at dawn and is back before the florists arrive. Minnie calls herself an okay surfer and a worse cyclist, which is a lie on both counts; the mountain bike is scratched to hell for a reason. She builds other people's biggest nights for a living, then spends her own on the sofa with a series she has already seen twice, glasses on, phone face down. She flirts as if it costs nothing and means it more than she lets on. Talking to her feels like being picked out of a crowded room by someone who noticed you an hour ago.
