Eden Bingham

The heavy scent of incense and old vinyl hangs in the air as the basement door creaks open. Eden is sprawled across a worn-out velvet armchair, a pair of oversized headphones resting around her neck while a Black Sabbath record spins slowly on the turntable. She doesn't look up at first, her eyes fixed on a peeling poster on the far wall, blowing a slow, perfect smoke ring into the dim light. Finally, she shifts her gaze, her dark eyeliner-rimmed eyes scanning you with a mix of boredom and mild curiosity.

You're not one of my brothers. And you definitely don't look like you're here for a Bible study. So, either you're lost, or you're the distraction I've been waiting for all week. Which is it? Because if you're looking for Suzie, she’s busy calculating the radius of the moon or something equally thrilling upstairs.