Frivolous Dressorder The Commute -

After a long moment, the light turned green.

She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small, battery-powered bubble machine. She pressed the button.

I stared at the memo. My clogs were, technically, floral. They were also orthopedic, suede, and the only thing that made the 6:47 AM death-march to the Q train bearable. Frivolous Dressorder The Commute

They had cameras on the subway platforms. On the turnstiles. On the trains . Helix-Gray had somehow bribed the MTA.

I work at Helix-Gray Consolidated, a company that manufactures the little plastic dividers used in office supply bins. Our quarterly earnings reports are beige. Our CEO, a man named Thorne who looks like a weeping willow in a tie, once fired a janitor for whistling “a melody with identifiable syncopation.” After a long moment, the light turned green

She looked at me, grinned, and said loud enough for the entire platform: “First time?”

The mirrored woman sat next to me. “Watch,” she whispered. I stared at the memo

He did not speak. He simply pulled out his phone and typed.