My hands will never be clean again, I’m sure of it. They have turned black and vow to stay that way, no matter how hard I scrub. I’ve been working in Dallas Tipsword’s garage for three months, and the grease and oil have managed to settle into every line and crease on my fingers and palms. Like the veins on a leaf, thin black lines run in all directions. Nineteen years old and I’m already scarred for life.  Now both inside and out.