On the morning of the seventh day, Miss Susan led me to the cell two doors down. Inside I could see it was not a cell, but a washroom. I showered, sha...ed (a little peach fuzz) and made myself presentable. Soon after finishing, I was led up the stairs to the kitchen. Miss Susan poured the contents of a ca on the floor before me and had me lick it up. During the rest of my training, I was fed this way. Over the next month, I slept on the kitchen floor chained to the stove. Each morning the cook. “You’re not a cowboy are you?” she pointedly inquired. “Me? No—no, I’m not a cowboy. Why?” “You don’t wear flannel and one of those big, stupid hats like your friend is wearing over there do you?” I glanced over my pinstriped pants, the black t-shirt, and my white dress shirt that I had hanging off my shoulders like a suit jacket. “No,” I repeated, moving my hands over my toned body. “This is all me right here. I don’t wear any garbage can lid belt. More

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