Tears of servitude wore on his face. Those once bright hazel eyes were now glazed over with a deep black which could peer into the soul of a person with the toughest exterior. With each morning he rose, his orange juice was accompanied by that clear Devil’s liquid in his flask. The kitchen had changed in the few years he had entered daily. Those bright faces he used to see with the rosy cheeks and all the worlds ambition was now replaced with little parts of him which he had lost. All traces of morality were gone and all his values reflected were the beliefs forced on him by his wife.