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I live in the American Gardens building on West 81st street--on the eleventh floor. My name is Patrick Bateman. I'm twenty-seven years old. I believe in taking care of myself and a balanced diet and a rigorour exercise routine. In the morning, if my face is a little puffy, I'll put on an ice-pack while doing my stomach crunches. I can do a thousand now. After I remove the ice pack, I use a deep pore cleanser lotion. In the shower, I use a water-activated gel cleanser; then, a honey almond body scrub. And on the face, an exfoliated gel scrub. Then I apply an herb-mint facial mask, which I leave on for ten minutes while I prepare for the rest of my routine. I always use an after shave lotion 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 an abstraction, 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 our lifestyles are probably comprable, I simply am not there.