Two closed doors also in the room. The guard pushes me down, I try to protest, but he doesn’t reply. Leaving me there, locking the door behind. Time...passes, I think, wondering what is going to happen to me. Never had used drugs, never has even seen drugs before, or known anyone who uses. I don’t believe it, they must be wrong. It seems like an eternity, but the officer, who searched my bag, enters. Walking to me, roughly he pulls me up, standing in front of him, my hands cuffed behind my back,. His stomach growled informing Travis that lunch time had come or, quite possibly, had already past. He stood up and tried to work the cramps out of his legs. He walked the length of his workshop examining his latest piece of furniture with a critical eye. He had chosen a red oak for the darker tones but the piece was a real risk; the coffee table was full of sharp angles but had no right angles. Interior designers were all about symmetry and balance and this piece was the opposite of symmetry.. More

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