The purple sofa

 Thinking ourselves invincible we entered the smartshop. Laughing joking and mocking. The shop was big inside, just a bit bigger than a modern convenience store. But most of the products were on the walls. Dozens of incredible drugs. All the variations of ecstacy. High grade cannabis, crystal meth and everything else you could possible imagine. The amazing thing wasn't the existance of everything but the fact every drug could be found in different variations and strengths.
We the five homeless speculated about what we could buy with the money we'd recieved or stolen.
Everyone of us wanted something different, and everything was expensive.
The biggest bang for our buck would have been the crystal. It was a generous helping and the material itself looked beautiful, we couldn't wait to melt it down through the pipe and change into a more gleeful state. I felt the mood change among us. I knew that feeling, trouble was brewing.
What I understood was we couldn't decide on what to get. So the two more restless members of our group would create a distraction, that was the signal for us to grab as much as we could from the walls and get the hell out. The thing was, the people who owned the establishment had let us in knowing who we were, they were not normal people. They were Trevos. A small town gang family.
And this their underground shop was usually only accesible to bikers and gamblers.

Chaos broke out as the two desperados started fighting and pushing over shelves. Screaming and shoving.
We grabbed what we could and ran for the door. The fat bodyguard looking man at the back of the room didn't flinch as if it was all meant to happen. 
We pushed the bar down but the door didn't budge as the impact of the others running into our backs hit us and toppled us to the floor.
We were taken further into the establishment. The further we went in the more we got the feeling this would be the end. We sat down on short old plastic chairs that were the perfect size for children but looked oddly formal. We were told to write our names. Those of us who were illiterate were directed out first.
The woman who was supervising us had a commanding glare. We could see in her eyes that if we tried anything there was an ugly surprise waiting. But the fact we were writing our names down on a piece of paper that actually looked like a contract, gave us hope. maybe we would be spared and put to work or some such thing. 
We were manhandled by two fat security guards to a room with high windows just bright enough to see the paper we had written our names on. One of our group screamed to other -lets run!
I knew straight away it wasn't going to be pretty. But just how it would end noone could predict.
It was so bizarre, yet so blunt and so meant to be.
The man we called Joe ran toward what looked to be exit doors, but it was just wallpaper.
His arm and body traversed the wallpaper looking both comic and brisk.
His arm smashed through some sort of huge crate. Thinking it was some possible way out he opened the crate. He had reached up and caught something in his hand. He certainly looked awkward almost trapped. The security guards just looked on their faces expressionless.
I cursed under my breath, they had seen this before. The wooden and chipboard shards came down exposing a purple sofa inside the crate. The man's arm was trapped there.
His face changed from hopeful to shock as the purple sofa chomped down on his arm.
Eating through it. but at the same time sucking him in and upward.
Behind the wall was a million such predatory purple sofas. Each one hungry.
But why did they get us to print our names. Is this hell?