The man from Toronto wore blue mirrored sunglasses. The kind where you couldn't see the wearers eyes. Could only see your reflection when talking to them. Often times people who wore these looked like an asshole or a douchebage.This man looked nice though. Someone George wouldn't mind being neighbors with. He wrote this down too.

He watched the man leave his Camry slow.  He kept looking back at it like he had forgotten something... or like it was the final time he would see that car. Step by step he made his way to the hotel entrance. He gave a final long glance at the car. And then quickly turned around and entered the hotel disappearing. George wrote this all down. The man hadn't locked the car door. At least not using his remote key. Maybe he had locked it from the inside before leaving the car, George thought.

George then wrote about this man. Where he had gone to high school. Stories of getting into fights and trying to take a girl out to a movie. What had been his life before ending up in this parking lot and entering that hotel?