What’s your personal hell?

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Picture a locked room. Country music playing overhead. Reality shows playing on TV. A fat woman wearing a t-shirt that says "Live. Laugh. Love" in that shitty sorority girl font telling me about her horoscope and trying to sell me essential oils, and she named her son Brayden. The only food available is plain quesadillas with ranch dressing, microwaved chicken tenders with honey mustard, and well-done steak with ketchup. The only beverage is iced tea. I have to sit on a plastic lawn chair with a sharp front edge that cuts off circulation to my feet, and I sleep on an underfilled water bed. The tiles on the floor are all just slightly misaligned, but I can escape from the tiles with a 3'x3' patch of flat, brown elementary school...
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Picture a locked room. Country music playing overhead. Reality shows playing on TV. A fat woman wearing a t-shirt that says "Live. Laugh. Love" in that shitty sorority girl font telling me about her horoscope and trying to sell me essential oils, and she named her son Brayden. The only food available is plain quesadillas with ranch dressing, microwaved chicken tenders with honey mustard, and well-done steak with ketchup. The only beverage is iced tea. I have to sit on a plastic lawn chair with a sharp front edge that cuts off circulation to my feet, and I sleep on an underfilled water bed. The tiles on the floor are all just slightly misaligned, but I can escape from the tiles with a 3'x3' patch of flat, brown elementary school classroom carpet. Every time I try to sleep, the fat cunt picks up her phone and plays retarded nigger TikTok videos with shit mumble rap. The A/C control is locked away, and the fat woman constantly keeps it at 90. No white noise, just deafening silence interrupted by essential oil pitches. Alcohol allotment is one light beer per day. There is a gun, but no ammunition.
 
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