[This is a somewhat nice restaurant. Sometimes Howard just wants to go out once every fifteen years and treat himself, and this seems like a nice and quiet place to do so. Absolutely oblivious to the war going around the city ("there must be a parade or something", he convinces himself), he's patiently awaiting the arrival of the lasagna he ordered, and one can clearly sees the way his eyes light up when the waiter finally places the plate in front of him.]
[Except...there's something else. Howard blinks. He stares at the waiter. Then at the gun. Then at the waiter again.]
iii
[Except...there's something else. Howard blinks. He stares at the waiter. Then at the gun. Then at the waiter again.]
[He finally speaks, his voice deadpan:]
I didn't order the gun with my meal.