American Express wants everybody to know if you’re rich or poor. Depending on your income it will offer you credit cards in a variety of colors. At the top is American Express Purple maybe. At the bottom is a transparent–like your socioeconomic worth–card, which they call Blue.

The clerk, a foreigner, was oblivious to the implications of K’s transparent card. He had gotten to know her over the past long time as he  frequented her fancy store to A) have the things he wanted and have them now and B)  impress this clerk (who looked kinda like Anna Torv, upon whom K had a mild crush  not because she’s attractive (because she isn’t) but because she is interesting looking) with his false purchasing power.

This would look amazing on you. She offered K some fashionable monstrosity that in its very monstrousness made it somehow less monster-like. Unable to say no to women, K put it on. Let me zip it up for you she said and dropped to her knees.

K saw the prostitutiveness in the gesture and  grew curious: What if I were to buy something really expensive he opined. But he soon frowned. Impossible. His American Express was transparent.