The sunglasses allow a more confident self to emerge within, to allow my eyes to fully open in any light and take in the neighbourhood fully calm.
On his face were sunglasses, but not the kind your Granddad wears when he wants to look cool in his old fly-boy jacket (though he does). No. These were more like something you'd expect on the face of an astronaut. They were utterly shiny, dark silver and so seamless. They simply wrapped around his face from one side to another, perfect as if only ever touched by gloved hand. And like all sunglasses, they hid the part I always found easiest to read and without that all I could do was take note of the mouth, the posture and his sense of personal space. It made my job harder, that's for sure, but I can gather enough intel while looking engrossed in my latte, no problem.
Out on our balcony she looked a million bucks in two dollar shades - those goofy oversized sunglasses in neon plastic frames. I would have just laughed it off but of course there's no UV protection in that, if anything it just opens up the pupils a little wider to let more in. So once the "bug eye" jokes were done we were arm in arm down the shaded evening street, weaving between the crowds and the street lights to buy some decent ones. Along with the heat of the day the intensity of the city folk had gone too; they sauntered in newly slackened paces wearing casual clothes, party clothes, dinner clothes...