i live in the american gardens buliding on west 81st street on the 11th floor. my name is patrick bateman. im 27 years old. I believe in taking care of myself with a balanced diet and a rigourous exercise routine. in the morning if my face is a little puffy, i'll put on an ice-pac while doing my stomach crunches. i can do a thousand now. after i remove the ice-pac, i use a deep pore lotion cleanser. in the shower, i use a water activated gel cleanser, then a honey-almond body scrub, and on the face, an exfoliating gel scrub. then i apply an herb mint facial masque, which i leave on for ten minutes while i prepare the rest of my routine. i always use an after shave with little or no alcohol, because alcohol dries your face out and makes you look older. then moisturizer, then an anti-aging eye balm, followed by a final moisturizing protective lotion. there is an idea of a patrick bateman. some kind of abstaction, but there is no real me. only an entity-- something illusory. and though i can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours, and maybe you can even sense that our lifestyles are probably comparable, i simply am not there. i have all the characteristics of a human being-- flesh, blood, skin, hair-- but not a single clear identifiable emotion, except for greed and disgust. somthing horrible is happening inside of me, and i dont know why. my nightly bloodlust has overflowed into my days. i feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. i think my mask of sanity is about to slip.
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