Her name was Janine (I think)

She was the waitress from hell. I had the chicken cacciatore and some kind of sparkling water that she’d recommended. To be honest, I don’t mean to say that she was spiteful or malicious or full of vitriol; I’m merely stating fact when I say that she was from hell. Her name was Janine Hensworth, and she was renting an apartment that, she told me, was literally in hell. To get there she took a twenty-seven minute elevator ride. The rent on her apartment was wicked cheap, she said, but the screams of the damned and accursed sometimes kept her up at nights. Had she considered sound-proofing, I asked?