G-strings and bombs

From a few nights ago:
We are looking for a new apartment. Our friend, DB, tells us his wife can help us find one. We meet her and she takes us down skinny alleys where big trucks grumble and nearly collide. The buildings are brick and tall. The road is rain-slicked. We come to an apartment building and we go inside. JL shows us the bathroom first. She's excited because she renovated the room by installing a new shower curtain rod -- she has moved it further away from the tub. I act like it's nice too, but I don't understand the concept. The bathroom has carpet and seems to tilt to one side. We move into another room and there is a large, deep square box on a table. She tells me that DB told her to buy me a nice gift for $100 at Old Navy. I open it and it is filled with lime green g-strings and burnt sienna sequined tank tops. There are also trial size deodorants. I am grateful, and curious, about this gift.

Last night:
I am with a large crowd. I don't recognize anyone. We are moving from one building to another, and there are subway passages that we travel through. Someone hands me a package and I look inside to find a bomb--the bomb is taken a part though and so it seems like it won't explode. Everyone is panicked. As we begin to move away from the bomb we hear explosions in the distance.