His face marred not by the events and trials which saw him devastated but instead by time, his master and keeper, the one thing to ever hold a hand over his, the great passing even he was subject to, DarthMelvin peered into the mirror in the motel bathroom as he brushed his rotting teeth and saw a face he recognized only partly; in his mind he was 20, but he looked old, the wrinkles on his face telling his secrets to those souls he would meet on the road and in supermarkets, the bags under his eyes the only symptom of his heartbreak.