Vincent woke up with a headache, the same throbbing that came around the same time before he slipped into a mental slump for a few days. It was a pattern, no matter ho much medication he had taken nothing had ever improved the symptoms he felt. Some days he would shut himself up in a hotel room and wait for it to pass by but that day he felt surrounding himself with people would prevent his mind from recalling the gruesome images of the war. It had been decades, the world was changing and he was sill alive, his family dead but his body the same it had been years ago. He stopped himself form thinking, jumping into the shower to clean himself off.<br/><br/>He was traveling light so he would have to settle with a pair of dark blue jeans, his black biker boots and a black long sleeve button down shirt with his brown "vintage" aviator jacket over it. The clothing he had stored and preserved from the war was the same that was being reproduced one more, it felt good having an actual original. Stepping out of his room, he walked over slowly into the bar. The attitude had shifted completely, he moved over to claim a pool table and began shooting a few rounds of pool poorly. If it all went well some of the locals would show up and try to hustle the new face, only to have it turned back onto them.