A Psycho I

I am IMMACULATE.

I graduated from the Sloan School of Management at MIT. My hair is black like the night air. 

In the morning, I scrub myself clean. The daylight dawns on my body.

I work in Wall Street. I am a loner by trade and a hustler by profession, but you, reader, would not know it.

Numbers and numbers and numbers. I look at them in an extremely intense and bored manner. I'd rather live in the time of Napoleon.

My office is large and windowless and decorated. I wear a Prada suit. I smoke Fendi cigarettes in my office. A name flashes into my mind and I buy that STOCK and in a few months, it will skyrocket. 

Everyone is an idiot. I don't know whether to look at people with pity or feigned respect.

I'm having lunch at Delirio's. I eat quietly. The food is good and expensive. People look like objects to me. 

IDIOTS.

-Eating alone?

She's trying to think up something clever in her mind. She's trying to remember some clever article in the New Yorker or Vanity Fair.

-Want to join me.

She sits down. For the life of me, I can't remember her name. All I know is that her father is extremely rich so I don't want to commit a faux pas. I just smile when she sits down and keep on eating.

-You're a mystery.

-And you are a displaced detective.

-What do you mean by that?

Questions like this baffle me. I don't even try to be clever, I try to be as obvious and normal as possible but people think I'm strange. They think I want to be invited to stupid parties in which idiots, I tell you, literal idiots with degrees from who knows where, actually attempt to say something slightly resembling originality.

-I mean it's nice to see a female detective.

She laughs somewhat nervously, then she chances...

-You are being investigated by the SEC for insider trading, BITCH!

I want to get up and leave, but I've been brought up with pleasant manners. I look at her and smile and do my best Al Pacino imitation from Godfather II.

-And you are an abortion.

I know she's going to cry now. I want to apologize to her, but I also want to continue eating my lunch.

-I'm trying to help you, Jack.

-My name is not Jack. My name is Fred.

-I can't tell the difference between one Asian or another.

-Well, congratufuckulations!

-Touchy.

BY the way, my wife is a drop-dead, gorgeous Japanese woman. Her feet never leaves the house.

-How was work?

-Short. Nadine ruined my lunch.

-People talk too much.

My mind is a complete blank. There's nothing to learn from the world. The world is a freak show, some sort of formal painting with fetishisms displaced into clever bits of inane conversation. I go to my backyard and shoot at deers. There's tomorrow's dinner.

I watch some tv and think about where civilization has gone. Nowhere. 

-Do you think it will rain tomorrow?

-The rain in Spain is mainly on the Plain.

Then we make love and then I feel emptied.

I do one hundred sit ups.

-There's a dinner party in Japan. The Princess will be there. You are required to attend.