Post-Apocalyptic Domestic Dispute

Roommate Joe busts me for leaving a half-gallon container of Blue M&Ms Juice in the trunk of his car, where it has leaked into the upholstery and potentially damaged sensitive components. I attempt to argue, but it's hopeless. I cut to the chase and offer to help him clean it up. He hands me a bucket and sponge, grabs a pink My Size Barbie™ suitcase full of miscellaneous supplies we will need, and we head outside.

It's the middle of the night, and the parking lot of our apartment complex is filled with an ever-growing crowd of surly homeless people, milling around and camping between the cars. A white-bearded fellow who looks vaguely like a 1990s sitcom character actor is sitting up in his sleeping bag and mutters "look at those white hosers...one of them's got a Barbie thing.." Not in the mood, I turn to him and stare deeply into his eyes as I impersonate a lizard-man, shifting my posture and obscenely flicking my tongue. He lies back down and pretends not to see me, and starts to mutter about something else.