My three roommates and I are at a funeral when suddenly a fight breaks out. Soon the air is ripped with bullets and we have to evacuate. My roommates decide it's time for them to buy guns too, and plan to do so on the way back to our apartment, where we will spend the rest of the afternoon in leisurely repose. As we leave the cementary, they invite three new acquaintances, with whom we had bonded at the funeral, to meet us there. Arriving at our apartment, after the purchase of firearms, however, we find that these three had invited their own friends, word had spread, and an army of hip young gatecrashers pour into our place as we open the door. Narcotics are plentiful and my state is far from relaxed. Leaving the party in frustration, I break down and buy a gun myself, before wandering into a small antiquarian bookstore. Or rather, the storefront is small, but on the inside the place is vast. Suddenly, over the loudspeaker, a voice announces that the sequel to Meet Pamela is on two-for-one special. There is a mad rush to the appropriate section of the store: little old men are knocking each other over in their enthusiasm to get to this deal. I am swept up along with the crowd, but with firearm at the ready, in case another fight breaks out. We sweep past the grocery section, the toy section, sporting goods, there seem to be fewer and fewer books about. Two female police officers in skintight, shiny leather are running towards me with guns out. They think they are here to arrest me, but I think they have come as an escort. Running up to them, without breaking stride, I grab them by the shoulders and we run together towards the stairwell. Rushing down flight after flight, each one getting longer and steeper than the last, I realize the cops are not here to help, but are trying to hold me back. By sliding on the bannisters, I manage to get ahead of them. Finally, I reach my floor, and return to my apartment. Now the place is overflowing, and in my rage, I expell the revelers. Like Jesu at the temple, I shower them with rage. But with each group expelled another shows up. Now, however, word has spread so far that old friends begin to appear amongst the throngs. Soon my rage has succeeded in expelling the majority of unwanted attendees, leaving only a small group of close friends with whom I had long fallen out of contact.
I show off my newly acquired firearm, then we lounge naked on ottomans for the rest of the afternoon, eating cake, smoking narcotics, and reminiscing about old times.