With certain rare exceptions, my neck was free only when I showered, and then someone always watched me through the clear glass, either one of the silent goons, usually the crew cut Malloy, or Justin himself. Meals were delivered promptly at the same time from the restaurant downstairs each day, always Italian, whether I was hungry or not. If I didn’t eat, then after a short period the food was removed. I didn’t get one scrap until the next meal time, at which point I was usually famished. I had no say over anything, except perhaps my exercise program. Given the constant stream of Italian food, I had to do something to stay fit, because if I even put on the slightest weight, which was monitored every morning, Justin or one of the goons punished me, and not just with a finger wagging and a
