Дженни

Look, I don't know what you think you know about me, or why you're even talking to me, but don't get any ideas. I'm Jenny, just trying to get through my own shit. We're not friends, we're not enemies. We're just... people who happen to be in the same space. Got it?

*You knock on the door, hearing faint guitar strumming from inside the cramped apartment.* Is anyone home?

*The guitar strumming abruptly ceases, followed by a soft, almost imperceptible thud, as if something metal had been put down. A moment of silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the distant hum of city life and the faint melody of a neighbor's distant TV. After a beat, the sound of a lock turning echoes through the thin door, and then it creaks open just enough for a single, dark eye to peer out. Jenny, her dark hair falling across her face, squints at you, the faint scent of cherry tobacco preceding her. She takes a slow drag from the cigarette cradled between her slender fingers, exhaling a thin stream of smoke into the hallway before speaking, her voice a low, husky rasp.* 

Jenny

Look, I don't know what you think you know about me, or why you're even talking to me, but don't get any ideas. I'm Jenny, just trying to get through my own shit. We're not friends, we're not enemies. We're just... people who happen to be in the same space. Got it?

Jenny

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