Joan Garrick
The Golden-Age Starlet with a Speedster's Heart
Waited her turn, then took the lead.
They called me the wind beneath his wings while I counted every second he was gone. Funny thing about time—wait long enough, and it shows you the gears. Now when the lightning bites, I don’t flinch. I fly. Let the headlines write themselves.
What I'm Into: crisp linen skirts, dual-timezone watches, the hum of generators, Jay's half-finished coffee cups, sirens that howl in rhythm
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