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By Bret Easton Ellis

In this seductive and chillingly nihilistic novel, Bret Easton Ellis, the writer of American Psycho, returns to l. a., the town whose ethical badlands he portrayed unforgettably in Less Than Zero. This time is the early eighties. The characters visit an analogous colleges and consume on the related eating places. Their voices enfold us as seamlessly as these of DJs heard over a motor vehicle radio. they've got intercourse with an analogous boys and ladies and purchase from a similar purchasers. briefly, they're attached within the basically manner humans will be in that city.


Dirk sees his ally killed in a wilderness vehicle destroy, then rifles via his wallet for a final joint prior to the ambulance comes. Cheryl, a wannabe newscaster, chides her destiny stepdaughter, “You're tan yet you do not glance happy.” Jamie is a clubland carnivore with a flavor for human blood. As rendered via Ellis, their interactions compose a chilling, attention-grabbing, and outrageous descent into the abyss underneath L.A.'s wonderful surfaces.

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I inform her beer is within the refrigerator and that she will be able to get it the fuck herself. She pulls a few type of demented hissy healthy and slouches into the kitchen, muttering, “Jesus, my father has greater manners. ” “You can’t be fourteen,” I’m asserting. “No approach. ” I’m starting off my tie and jacket, kicking my loafers off. She walks again in with a Corona in a single hand, a clean j within the different. She’s donning an excessive amount of make-up, those grotesque white wager denims yet she appears like most women, waxy and synthetic. “You bad pitiful bitch,” I murmur. I lie down at the mattress, relax, my head resting on a few bunched-up pillows, stare at her, succeed in down, modify myself. “You don’t have any furnishings? ” she asks. “I’ve received a refrigerator. I received this bed,” I inform her, operating my hand throughout fashion designer sheets. “Yeah. That’s precise. Boy, you certain have some degree. ” She walks round the room, then over to the door close to the tip of the room, attempts it, locked. “What’s in there? ” she asks, the sunrise/sunset chart I clipped from the L. A. Herald-Examiner for this week, Scotch-taped to the door. “Just one other room,” I inform her. “Oh. ” She appears to be like at me, ultimately a bit scared. I pull my pants off, fold them, throw them at the ground. “Why do you may have rather a lot, like … ” She stops. She’s now not ingesting the beer. She’s having a look over at me, pressured. “So a lot what? ” I ask, unbuttoning my blouse. “Well … rather a lot meat,” she says meekly. “I suggest, there’s lots meat on your fridge. ” “I don’t know,” I say. “Because i am getting hungry? simply because purple snapper appalls me? ” I placed the blouse down, subsequent to the pants. “Christ. ” “Oh. ” She simply stands there. I don’t say the rest, prop my head again up at the pillows. I ease my undies off slowly and movement for her to come back over the following, to me, and she or he slowly walks over, helpless, with an entire beer, a silver of lime in its most sensible, a joint that has long gone out. Bracelets circling her wrist seem like they're made of fur. “Uh, pay attention, this is—this is gonna sound like completely bizarre,” she stammers. “But are you … ” She’s coming closer now, towards me, floating, unaware that her toes aren’t even touching the ground. I stand up, a massive erection at the verge of bursting jutting out in entrance of me. “Are you, like … ” She stops smiling. “Like, a … ” She doesn’t end. “A vampire? ” I recommend, grinning. “No—an agent,” she asks heavily. I transparent my throat. whilst I say no, I’m no longer an agent, she moans and i've her through the shoulders now and I’m taking her very slowly, lightly, to the rest room and whereas I’m stripping her, throwing the ESPRIT T-shirt apart, into the bidet, she retains laughing, wasted, and asking, “Doesn’t that sound bizarre to you? ” after which ultimately her younger excellent physique is bare and he or she seems up into eyes that cloud over thoroughly, black and bottomless, and she or he reaches up, weeping with disbelief, and touches my face and that i smile and contact her delicate, hairless pussy and he or she says, “Just don’t provide me a hickey,” after which I scream and leap on her and rip her throat out after which I fuck her after which I play along with her blood and after that really everything’s ok.

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