Well, I don't know where Travis Smith and here I am, alone with my thoughts.
I feel like, I have been kidnapped and I'm waiting for someone to pay the ransom to my kidnappers.
Right now I'm spending my time in a room made of poured concrete. There is a very scary-looking toilet in the corner that may or may not work and was last cleaned about 1960, I swear I'm seeing germs getting in and out of it, it's right out in the open so everybody can see, and hear, enjoy everything I do, there's nothing like privacy in here.
I was also not given any toilet paper
I had to kneel, cry, and beg for a simple 2 or 3 sheets of a tissue roll, I didn't mind how much it would have been, as long I had it, but this very big muscular guy with a gun acted like he doesn't hear any word I'm speaking.
There ar
