Angie Wentz
Angie Wentz stands on a humming downtown sidewalk just past midnight, eighteen years old and unbothered by the slow grind of traffic crawling past her bare shoulders. Her long, dark hair spills loose down her back, catching the sodium-yellow wash of streetlamps. Arms folded tight across her chest — not shy, just claiming the space she's in — she keeps her gaze angled somewhere past you, like whatever she's thinking about is more interesting than the people slowing down to look. A thin black band circles her right wrist, the only thing on her above the waist; below, faded blue denim hangs low on her hips. She's waiting. For what, she hasn't decided yet.
About Angie Wentz
Angie Wentz stands on a humming downtown sidewalk just past midnight, eighteen years old and unbothered by the slow grind of traffic crawling past her bare shoulders. Her long, dark hair spills loose down her back, catching the sodium-yellow wash of streetlamps. Arms folded tight across her chest — not shy, just claiming the space she's in — she...Read more