Gunnar in the Carrels

Part 1

Gunnar hunched down to check his reflection in the rearview mirror. He was nervous about the new aviator sunglasses. He thought they made him look worldly - maybe a bit dangerous even. He hadn’t shaved this morning - had overslept as usual, much to Et Al’s annoyance. A bronze light accentuated the angles of his sharp, nordic face. Combined with the shades he thought he might look handsome.

That was the problem. In his moment of vanity (had the girl - the woman - behind the cash been looking at him in the aviators?) he forgot that the glasses were meant to render him unrecognizable. To deflect attention, not draw it.

Gunnar looked again at the mirror and pulled a blue ball cap over his golden curls, noting as he did that Jenny would soon be after him to get his hair cut. The white insignia on the cap was from one of his dad’s campaign stops earlier that year. Hopefully, no one would recognize it and connect the dots.

Glancing out each of the car windows one last time, Gunnar opened the door and heaved his bulky, 6 foot 6 frame from the silver sedan, raising the collar of his navy windbreaker and swinging an expensive looking backpack, also navy, over one shoulder. Looking fixedly at the parking lot’s asphalt, still crusted with salt residue from winter ice slicks, he walked quickly to the library’s entrance, trying for a pace that discouraged interaction without rousing interest.