Gripping stranger #10: Unabomber

Are you a eunuch? Are you a 24-year-old in a 12-year-old's body? What makes you laugh? These and other questions may remain unanswered forever, but I can't shake the feeling that you could play a heavy hand in the demise of a society. The trenchcoat, the sunglasses, your 5'2 frame with short, soft blonde '80s hair and the flip flops and short-shorts you wear to the laundry room--your very being feels like a spy movie from another era. The woman who lives with you is equally mysterious: a girlfriend? A sister? A madam? She looks at least 10 years older than you and has similar blonde hair, sunglasses, and, when you go out on Sunday afternoons, a matching beige trenchcoat. Sometimes I see you walking home in your trenchcoat and khakis, carrying a plastic bag containing a styrofoam take-out container. I always wonder about its contents and what day job you could possibly be returning from. I have seen your face only a few times after seeing you fairly regularly for almost a year. The face is that of a freckled young boy's, but I know that you are not a child. You have small, piercing bright blue eyes into which I can see no soul, but that only makes me wonder what happened to form so many inpenetrable layers, layers covered in soft cotton, covered in khaki, covered in penny loafers and business wear.