Well, this was not what I'd planned at all.

I sat behind a graffitied table in a small interview room that reeked of sweat and desperation, some of which was mine. My body was rebelling against me because I wasn't doing what I was supposed to be doing. Weird spasms twitched my nerves, my feet burned as if I'd slipped hot coals into my boots, and my stomach felt like I'd plunged forty knives into it and then drank a gallon of lemonade. Speaking of, I had to pee something awful. That ...