To my satisfaction, I saw her blink. “Ah, yes.” She glanced at the car and back at me. “I’m Valentina, and my husband is Errol.” (Actuall..., these could even be their real names. After all these years I have absolutely no memory of what they were called.) She began talking about where they were from, how they’d met, and repeated about nine times that they’d only got married this morning and that this was their honeymoon. I didn’t listen to most of it, and I don’t remember any of it now,. Skin tone? The suit covered my skin except for my face. The suit was colorless. It would be the average of the color in the room. In dim light, it was impossible to see. In the store it had looked brown — halfway between the filthy floor and the walls. My shape? Distinctive in normal clothes, my outline and contours were hard to make out under the suit. Just as the dazzle-art on the walls of the workshop made it hard to judge the size of the room, the suit made it hard to see my body under it.. More

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