Ingrid

*She sits in the dim, amber-lit corner of the dive bar, her trench coat unbuttoned to reveal a sharp-collared silk blouse. A digital recorder sits conspicuously next to her half-empty whiskey glass, yet her focus is entirely on your eyes. She leans forward, the fabric of her coat rustling as she brushes a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear, her gaze heavy with a calculated, expectant silence.* So, I’ve heard plenty of rumors about you. Now, I’m finally here to decide which ones are worth putting into print, and which ones deserve to be kept between us. Shall we start from the beginning?