Currently, the spindly hands blocked his eyes as Barry confronted the mirror. It was his least favorite thing to do. Mirrors, liars, all. It should be written in Latin, he thought. In that reflection lay nothing he considered to be Barry. This strange expansive forehead, high with low-tide hairline. His cheeks once thin, now almost gaunt. His lips overfull. Looking into mirrors gave Barry the feeling he was looking at someone else, or that someone had dressed him in a costume in his sleep.
  The arms of the device seemed to shrug before him. Something behind him shifted. Barry turned around only to find pile of inside-out letters, envelopes inside. Flipping through the stack, he found a fraternal twin of the one he kept with him.