I live in the American Gardens building on West 82nd street on the eleventh floor. My name is Patrick Bateman. I'm twenty-seven years old.
I believe in taking care of myself with a balanced diet and a rigorous exercise routine. In the morning if my eyes are feeling a little puffy I put on a face mask while doing my stomach crunches. I can do a thousand now.
After I remove the icepack I use a deep pore cleanser wash. 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 mask which I leave on for ten minutes while I prepare the rest of my routine.
I always use an aftershave lotion with little to no alcohol, because alcohol dries the skin therefore making you look older. Then moisturizer, then an anti-aging eye balm, followed by a moisturized protective lotion.
There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman. Some kind of abstraction. But there is no REAL Bateman. Only a shitposter, something to check the dubs.
And though this Bateman can beat /x/ in grand style in virtual dive-drass with his cold gaze, and you could shake his hand and feel cold moist flesh gripping yours; maybe you could sense our life-styles are comparable.
I simply. Am not. There.