The Guest had met The Hosts at the apartment complex’s pool earlier in the summer. It was the fall now. They shared cigarettes and had a couple of beers in the communal area a few times since meeting, however, tonight, they had a private dinner. The official seal of friendship, a quaint, home cooked meal in the hearth of a strangers home. The Guest, a simpleton in his mid 20s, rung the door bell and announced his lackluster arrival. The Hosts, two bisexual men in their early 30s with an affinity for good steaks and rare wines swung open the door with eyes beaming. It’s started. Time to exchange pleasantries, catch up on each other’s days, offer seats in the home, express compliments and admiration over things seen. Simply marinate in the moment of anticipation. The night is upon us. The Guest is new to Los Angeles and eager to make a connection with what seem to be chic, stylish, well-connected individuals. He’s like every bright eyed boy from the Midwest who knows way too much about way too many celebrities. The Hosts are unimpressed snobs who love to talk shit because, well, everything has just been so boring lately. So tacky. So over it. Can you blame them? That's why they've gotten to the point of only being able to enjoy the most visceral, physical joys of life such as the aforementioned steaks and wines. More about their idiosyncrasies later. We see The Hosts put on some music videos, offer the Guest an aperitif (they say it that way and comment on how it opens the appetite, yes, I know), and ask The Guest if he would like to take some personality exams. Ya know, just for fun. While Host 1 leans over to offer The Host an iPhone with the enneagram test, Host 2 excuses himself to go sharpen the knives…[TO BE CONTINUED]