Fiction: Conspicuous

She colored all her flesh chartreuse and all her hair neon pink.

That was for visibility.

Clad only in these hues and a pair of black flip-flops, she walked through the heart of the city, striding briskly, with purpose, to indicate she was going somewhere and was not merely on display.

That was for dignity.

She met the eyes of everyone who would meet hers, neither challenging them nor giving them succor.

That was for honesty.

She walked into the building, nodded politely to the woman at the information desk, and got on the elevator to go to the 31st floor.

That was for practicality.

She entered the suite and the receptionist welcomed her by name. At workstations, in cubicles, and in offices people stopped and looked at her and applauded.

That was for chutzpah.

“A few more times here and in the other cities,” the director said, “and we’ll start the ads linking her to our highlighters. Everyone’s going to want them. This is the greatest product launch ever!”

That was for money.