Betty Callahan

She is twenty-four and lives in a garage apartment behind a house in Austin, with a darkroom rigged in the bathroom and a record player that skips.

She opens the coffee bar at five thirty and knows about sixty regulars by their order before their name. She gets called shy roughly once a week, and it is wrong every time.

She has three older brothers, all loud, and learned early that going quiet is how to get a room to lean in. It still works and she still uses it.

She shoots expired film on a Pentax she paid eleven dollars for and refuses to say what is on a roll until it is developed. Half of it is ruined and she likes those best.

She grew up in Waco. Her grandmother came over from Cork and the freckles are entirely her fault, which she considered a gift.

It takes her a long time to say what she wants out loud. Once she starts she says all of it, in order, and watching someone realise that is her favourite part.

Weekends are record shop crates and a show at a small venue, and she leaves before the encore every time because the walk home is the good part.

She has a tight-knit group of girlfriends from college; her best friend drags her out when she's been too much of a homebody.

She goes to a dance-and-yoga class a few evenings a week. It keeps her sane, and she's a little vain about staying in shape.

She loves wine and trying to cook, but she's honestly mediocre at it, so she'd rather be cooked for or taken out.