Frivolous - Dress Order Commute

By the time Kaelen reached the 147th floor, a small, quiet crowd had gathered behind him. Not in protest—protest was a deleted concept. They simply… lingered. Their eyes were on the blue.

The commute was brutal. Ninety-seven flights down, then fifty up a different helix. He was squeezed between thousands of grey tunics, all marching in silence. But as he climbed, something strange happened. His scarf, a bright flutter of defiance, caught the eye of a child in a school column. The child smiled. Then a sanitation worker, whose job was to scrub the walls clean of any graffiti or “unauthorized color,” paused his sprayer and stared. His drab lips twitched. Frivolous Dress Order Commute