It's after anthropology class. A wonderful and joyous Thursday afternoon. A group of multi-racial people is in Study Room F, laughing and joking. Freeze frame of the Study Group laughing and smiling together. A caption in big, bold, and black font appears at the bottom: STUDIOUS GROUPIS.
A small middle-age Asian man is outside of the study room, sitting on the ground under a metal desk across from the study room with binoculars, stalking and watching the group. Freeze frame of him, with an exaggerated sad, pitiful, lonely look. A caption in big, bold, and black font appears at the bottom: CREEPI LOSERIS.
He starts giggling and hugging himself, madly, as if he was part of the group until he realizes that the group is gone. His jaw hits the floor in shock, as he did not know that they left. He stands up, looking mad and disappointed, until a thought passes through his head and, with that, he walks away in a hurry and with a purpose.
The Next Week...
Same time. Same place. Same situation. Once again, the Study Group is laughing and joking. The man enters the room carrying a basket full of candy and treats. The Study Group sees him and silence engulfs the room, immediately. The Middle Eastern man silently stands up, walks over to the man, examines the basket, and, like a ninja, takes the basket from him as the whole Group takes what candy they like as the man stands there, stunned. This same man then gives the basket back to the Asian man and leads him out of the room, gently padding him on the back in gratitude. He closes the doors and the man stands there, bewildered.
The Next Week...
Same everything. The man is on a desk outside of the study room, hanging onto a rope, waiting to swing into the study room like Tarzan. He jumps off the desk and he slowly flies towards the room. All of a sudden, the freakishly tall, blonde man—it seems the leader of the group—closes the door in anger. The man slams into the doors and, like putty on a wall, slides down.
The Next Week...
The man, armed with a shovel, pick, and a miner's helmet, swiftly and suspiciously trots to the back of the library, near Study Room F. He shifts his eyes for staff members and sees none. He starts to shovel, quickly and in a superhuman sort of way. When he finishes shoveling to see where he's at, by popping out of the hole like a mole, he finds he's in China, with the Great Wall of China behind him. He raises his eyebrow and goes back down to dig again.
Again, he pops his head up to see his location. He sees that he's in the desert—most likely, the Middle East—where a man in a turban tells him, "Ah, I knew you shoulda taken that left turn at Albuquerque." The man goes back down and digs again. Once again, he pops his head out to find himself in the study room (finally), but a bald man is crying in the fetal position a few feet away while the tall man and the brunette is sitting in fount of the doors. The man says nothing, but slowly and quietly lowers himself back into the hole.
The Next Week...
The man rolls into the study room on roller blades, but finds it empty; expect for remains of what appeared to be a birthday cake. The man studies the table over, trying to figure out where the group went. As he examines the table, an old man passes by and tells him that the group went to a bar; which one he did not know. However, as the group left, the blonde and the giant were arguing about which one to go. The blonde arguing for "The Red Door" while the giant argued that only hipsters went there and, thus, "L Street" is a much better place to go to for the black kid's first drink.
The man's brows knit together in thought and frustration. He rolls out of the library to the parking lot where he gets on a silver scooter and speeds off to the Red Light District to "The Red Door" or "L Street" or whatever people were calling it these days. He parks in fount of the bar (in fount of a fire hydrant, of course) and jumps off to enter. He is, however, stopped by a brute of a bouncer that, ironically, was named "Tiny". The man tries to stare the brute down to allow him to enter. The brute, instead of engaging in a staring contest, pushes the man away from the door with his hand, the size of the man's body. The man doesn't take no for an answer and tries to enter again. The same thing happens expect that the man lands in a pile of trashcans.
The man breathes in heavily, as if he's thinking of a solution. A group of men (college aged) come around the corner to the bar, obviously, and so the man quietly jumps in the middle of the spray tanned, cologne soaked, meatheads. They enter the bar without a problem, but, of course, the man is plucked from the group like a bad apple by the brute's incredibly huge hand. He is thrown back into the trashcans. However, this time, he's unconscious for a few minutes because, as he recovers, he hears the sound of his scooter being taken away.