A Forgotten Night

So there I was waking up from what I thought was another great night on the town, only to find out I was not in the comfort of my own home. I was behind metal bars and concrete walls in a cold/nasty cell block in the county jail. With no memory of what happened the night before and a headache that was splitting my head. So as I sit up from the jail bed, a receipt fell out of my pocket it was from the local bar down the street, a business card, 9 mm bullets, 10 Xanax bars, and $30,000 in cash. So I look through my pockets and try to start piecing together the night. Once I finally put all the items in the right order, I remembered bits and pieces of what had happened. The business card that I had was from the local bar right down the block from the police station where I was being held. I remember meeting a guy there and he bought me a drink. After a few minutes, I started feeling queasy so I got up and went to the restroom. The last thing I remember from the bar was the same man who bought me a drink, walking in after me and grabbing my arm. The receipt that was in my pocket was also from the bar, however, it gave me a name. The man who bought my drink was Ryan Smith. I remember what he looks like now, stocky build, tattoos all over, there was a gritty appearance to this man. Before he had reached and grabbed me, I can picture a 9 mm pistol in the waist band of his jeans. The last thing I remember before waking up in this jail cell was walking with this man to a dark corner, he spoke a little bit with another man. The argument then got pretty physical and then the next thing I know is I'm waking up with a pounding head ache in a jail cell with items that I have never touched before. The only thing that makes sense is that I was framed. Yes, that has to be it. That's why the drugs are on me,  that's why there are bullets in my pockets. That has to be it.