“Do you like my hair Mr…?”

“Comma, Henry Comma. My I.D. code is top secret, don’t bother.”

“Once again Mr. Comma, my hair. What about my hair, do you like it?”

“IC αβ-38-17-26, are you aware that you personality library is outdated? Your aptitude tests on the whole, are below average. Let’s see: This obsession with your hair is a bit, let’s say…unconventional. Your self interest is distracting at best.”

As Mr. Comma read Mary’s scores, she slowly and methodically twisted and twirled her hair with her left index finger, her perfect Blood-Orange colored nail darted through her blue-black strands, like a carp surfacing through black waters.

Mary finally stood, her perfect figure turned the room ugly. She held her purse between her knees. With her left hand, she began to re-stack her raven hair; the left side of her mouth full of pins. “Mr. Comma, my hair is real”, she spat.

Out in the lobby, heavy thuds could be heard. Mary’s promotion went as planned and not a single hair, out of place.