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This is a java port of zxcvbn, which is a JavaScript password strength generator. - zxcvbn4j/ at master · nulab/zxcvbn4j. Magic erupted from the creature like a shockwave from a collapsing star. The foul torrent hit Karat and the werewolf, tossing them behind me.

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The ad-hal grabbed her and flung her off. She flew, smashed into the building behind the staircase with a crunch, and slid down. It leveled one ball at us and the other at the werewolf woman. The creature hurled the twin lightning balls. I lunged left, Karat lunged right, and the blinding sphere tore between us. The second ball caught the werewolf in midleap.

She screamed, the sound of pure agony, and collapsed onto the terrace, writhing in pain. My body remembered being hit with that lightning. It felt like being thrust into the center of a star, drowning in an unimaginable, searing, unbearable pain that set the marrow of your bones on fire. It had almost killed me. The echo of that pain rolled through my body. Fear filled me, pushing out everything else.

I dashed to the side, spurred by panic, ripped the energy whip off my belt, and squeezed it. The filament burst out in a shower of yellow sparks. I snapped the whip. The tip of it caught the ball of lightning. The impact reverberated through my arm, and I threw myself to the ground. The orange sphere exploded with white fire. The magic blast wave punched me, pushing me backward across the stone.

The overload of revolting magic stomped on my ribs, and my heart screamed in my chest. Pain drowned me. I swam out of it, gagged, sobbed, spat blood out of my mouth, and rolled upright. Karat sliced at the corrupted ad-hal, insanely fast, her sword an extension of her body.

The creature raked her armor with its claws. She roared and kept swinging, fast, precise, leaving it no opening to gather its magic. The werewolf woman staggered to her feet, gripped her knives, and lunged at the ad-hal, looking for an opening. They tore at the creature from opposite sides. It darted between them like a rag on a clothesline dancing in strong wind.

The black hardsuit she wore underneath showed through the gaps. Karat thrust. The ad-hal spun, turning its back to her, and her blade missed it by an inch. The werewolf saw an opening, dove in, and slashed with both knives. The ad-hal-jerked aside, avoiding the slash and closed in in the split second her arms were apart. Its clawed hand caught the werewolf just under the sternum. The creature ripped its hand upward, carving flesh and clothes with its claws in a spray of blood.

The werewolf screamed. Karat slashed at the ad-hal. The creature slid out of the way, but the blood blade caught the edge of its robe. A piece of the fabric flew, cut free. Karat grinned, her face a terrifying grimace, and launched a frenzied attack. Left, right, swing, cut, slash, I could barely follow. Magic erupted from the creature like a shockwave from a collapsing star. The foul torrent hit Karat and the werewolf, tossing them behind me like they weighed nothing, and smashed into my shield.

The air in front of me flashed with turquoise. Orange lightning smashed at the screen of my magic. It felt like a thousand red-hot needles pierced me in a single moment. My arm went numb. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Karat convulsing on the ground.

The werewolf sprawled on her back, making small wheezing noises. The ad-hal hovered in front of me. A black stain spread through its robe, from the hood to the hem, as if it shed its skin, exposing its true nature underneath. I felt it. There it was.

The corruption. The awful, wrong, cosmic thing that wanted to infect, consume, and smother. Whisps of orange lightning snaked over the former ad-hal, rising up, as if the creature were caught in an invisible dust devil. This thing with clawed hands and monstrous jaw used to be a person. A human just like me. Now it was a husk, a host for the corruption within, and that corruption would kill me, then it would kill Karat and the werewolf.

None of us would get out alive. Memories flooded me. It crawled inside my inn like some disgusting parasite. I killed that intruder. I purged it from my inn. I was an innkeeper, and I would purge this one. It was my duty. I pulled the broom from my back and planted it in front of me. Magic streamed around me, spiraling from my body and tugging at my hair. I pushed my magic out into the building under me. It streamed through the stone of the terrace into the first floor below, growing from the soles of my feet like roots of a tree.

It clamped them together. The glowing clumps connected, merging into a blinding sphere churning with energy. The brilliant sphere broke. A beam of orange lightning streaked toward me, mottled with dark magic. The beam tore at my magic screen, trying to drill through it, scalding, burning, biting… The strain gripped my spine, crushing my vertebrae, so heavy it felt like I would crumple and collapse.

The magic tore at me, trying to push me back, but I was anchored. My roots were deep. I would not be moved. Agony vibrated through me, radiating from my chest to my fingertips. I tasted blood and held fast. I fed everything I had into my broom.

The shaft split in my hand, sprouting tentacles of brilliant turquoise. They surged to the creature and gripped it in a vise, wrapping over its robe. The corrupted ad-hal screeched. Its power flared, coating my tentacles, fighting against me. I gritted my teeth and squeezed. I had to contain it. It would not infect anything else. The lightning dashed up the tentacles to the broom and bit at my hand. It felt like someone flayed me with an electric razor blade.

I just squeezed, harder and harder, trying to wring it out of existence. Nothing it could do to me would make me stop. If the sky cracked and fell on me, I would keep squeezing. The creature screamed, flailing. Its magic ripped at me, and I felt the corruption within it rage. It burned with fury and frustration, a torch at its own funeral. It had been thwarted, and it knew it, indignant at being bound. The former ad-hal jerked, frantically trying to rip itself free.

My magic pushed against it, spreading from the tentacles, wrapping it up tighter and tighter. It shrank under the pressure. Its robe collapsed into a clump. The body of the former ad-hal was gone. It was just a blob of pure corruption now, viscous, liquid, but still bound by my power. I reached deep within, to the bottom of my soul, and sent the final terrible pulse through my broom. My magic crushed the foul blob in its fist. It burst and rained onto the terrace, splattering the stone and the three of us with foul-smelling goo.

Its magic was gone. It was just rotting fluid now. I pulled the tentacles into the broom and wiped the disgusting sludge from my face. Behind me Karat staggered to her feet. New book releases, give-aways, and appearances. Free fiction, snippets, and funny stories. Read our Privacy Policy. Omg, only 1hr late to the blog today- thought it was a sat due to the bank holiday in the uk; and already messages!

Now that the hint is there it becomes obvious the female wolf is involved with the corrupt ad-hal. She seems to always be around when one of them are there. She probably used wanting Sean as an excuse to try to split them up so that Dina would be more vulnerable.

Tea needs must be obeyed! It was Earl grey. The teapot got knocked and sloshed over the mouse so I had to look out the emergency spare one. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! I hope your next 3 weeks are easier than you expect.

Hope you have a great vacation. Thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Dina v corruptor, round three. Lady were is going to need a doctor, lady vamp a shower. One more thought, when the story is complete and ready to be published, i hope you are able to include pictures of all the Alien Bachelor contestants with the book. Cause i keep forgetting who is who when i read the weekly chapters, and so i then have to go back and find out who is who. Go Dina Go! I completely agree.

No one can be that cheerful all the time. Plus, selfish. If she hangs around some more, she will be their idiot and part of the family. And on another front, Dina 2, Corruption 0. Perhaps it will sink in that Dina could take her apart and maybe the silly werewolf will catch a clue.

I think that Karat and the female werewolf are seeing Dina in a different light. Determination and magic can beat brawn most days of the week. Completely different mind and skill set, just as or even more devastating. To be fair Karat got her information from Maud. Who had cut herself off from her family for over a decade, Give or take. Except for that short stay at the inn. Maud was judging Dina by Warrior standards.

Being a Warrior is a profession. Like being a Innkeeper or Baker. Knowing how to fight should the need arise is something else entirely. A fighter is a skill set. Like picking locks or making wine. She just left some stuff out. She let her find out for herself. Holy cow! So much going on! Thank you for this! Will need to reread several times. Take care during your busy time coming up! Wow, just wow. Girl power unite!! I hope Karat will never underestimate Dina ever again. What an awesome chapter!!!

Made my day, thank you. Heck yah! Just what I needed to read on my lunch break. I love how House Andrews always brings it, action, romance, mystery, humor, fun characters and sass and snark! Holy smoke!!! Dina and the mystery lady will annihilate the imposter unless Caldenia gets there first. Great chapter. Dina is such a wonderful character. Patience for the next installment is going to be hard. Good thing the other women softened it up enough to give Dina the edge.

Maybe werewolf woman will give up on Sean and end up the bride of K. That would be an amusing twist. All I can say is whoa! I wonder what Sean and the others are going to say when they see Karat and Dina when they come back? Probably a lot of words that could be bleeped out. Are they taking the female werewolf back to the inn to recuperate? Maybe she followed it there or knows something of it. What is happening tomorrow that the altered one should be entering? Why not now? Why not help them with the droid?

Or even let Dina and Sean know he and his assistants were roaming around instead of drinking tea? Did Nuan Coukie go? Is he writing a synopsis. Also the smile? Not a cat thing. If the pirate Prince can alter someone to have scales, he can have himself altered to look different. Who is to say that the pirate prince is the only assassin in the group? What did he do to get into one of the groups? Did the Dominion do their homework to confirm the team comes from the planet they say they do? Check their references or something rather than accepting bla bla bla has just rocked up claiming to be from bla bla bla planet.

Just an example, Team Frowns are from a very secretive planet, who is to say that they really are from there? For all we know pirate prince supplanted the real person in the team somehow and they think whoever it is is not themself, but are putting it down to nerves. As an aside, what gender is the Donkamin candidate? Can they have something happen like stub their toes, need some face cream or fancy a pizza so Sean or Dina can go have a ick moment and we get to see them and their group?

What does a Murderbird look like? We know how Pivor looks, he must be altered? What do the rest of them look like? Len, I think a reread of the chapters so far would help a lot. A number of the questions you have raised are addressed in the text. They are not a humanoid race with the same conventions as ours. Everything about them is made for creep factor.

Pivor is not a modified Murder Bird. Several of the Delegations have brought humanoid candidates not of their species. Oh my God, that was amazing! I was so scared the the corrupted figure was Wilmos, but it just had a piece of his hair as proof of life, if I am not mistaken. Holy Moly, Sean is going to be so angry when Dina gets back. And since the werwolf woman helped, now there is a debt that Dina will feel obligated to contend with.

Hope the woman now sees Dina as an equal and not an adversary to contend with. So much information that I now have to reread. Thank you so much House Andrews! Corrupted ad hal was there to deliver a message. Dina asked him what he wanted to trade for Wimos. Before she could find out anything werewolf attacked and then it all went down. Dina is likely take her back to inn because she is Dina but so far it is the were wolf who is indebted to Dina.

WOW Dina! What a way to make a dushegub look tame by comparison! Thanks for a great chapter. Enjoy your weekend, HA. Ohhhh my. Well, if the next update takes a while this was a great one to sate our burning need for more. Where did Dina get that power?? I was wondering the same thing. No, sorry. Maybe an older one? Giant tree in Baha-char. The place where Thek and his students were staying when Dina needed them to battle the sphinx. Hopefully your upcoming chaos is good chaos.

Thanks for bringing the Friday happy: — Dina handles murder trees. More First Scholar! Assuming there is only one assassin, we may have just eliminated the female candidates. Dangerous to assume though. My sympathies to Dagorkun…. I also think Pivor from the Murder birds is the pirate…. So I better check the list of candidates again. Not an ounce of seriousness was employed in that comment. Well, they said their Caesar is above reproach.

So it should be The First Scholar, not Dagorkun. Just saying. As has been said: WOW. After that chapter I think I need a cup of tea and a quiet lie down. Go Dina. Did not see that coming, thought they would get information and go back. I have to find it to add this one. I think Maud knows Dina can be lethal. I agree. But I think after Hiro, the murderous poultry, and the prior corrupted Ad hal, Maud knows that once Dina engages, she will not back down until the other party is down and permanently out.

Karat just found that out. Only back this innkeeper into a corner if you want to lose. I do hope things go smoothly for you, whatever you have to deal with. This is not because I want more Innkeeper, though I do — this is because stress is not fun and you deserve a smooth couple of weeks without any more issues than you already have to deal with.

Thank you for such a great chapter! I was leaning closer and closer to my laptop while I read it…very intense. My bet is on Smiling Pivor the Selfish. He has the, hm, swagger and confidence for it. The rest are either female or not humanoid enough to match the description.

Thank you for the update. On a related note — My son has a great vocabulary and used to be a prolific reader with a capability well above his peers but his ability to read did not match the topics available to read too basic for him in age appropriate stories and too adult a topic for his ability. Hence he lost interest, stopped reading fiction and, despite my best efforts, for years would only read non-fiction. Because I also own the books in print, my son was motivated to read them all and then asked if there are any other series.

I understand and commiserate. I told the teacher we would talk again in a month. I bought the first Harry Potter book on CD for my son. I bought the second one in print and gave it to him. He had improved his measured reading from inadequate to fourth grade in that month.

I went to the Principal of the school and insisted that every student that lazy witch had relegated to remedial classes be re-evaluated immediately or I would discuss the situation at work. I was going to suggest Harry Potter, too. The first books are ok for young readers and by the time they get through them, they might be ready to handle the more adult issues of the later books. Our 2 daughters grew up to be the same. I am often asked how to encourage reading.

Children are motivated to read what interests them, e. And my daughters were classified as reading at the college freshman level of comprehension by 8th grade. Xanth series in particular. My son devoured the whole book at that time series in one summer.

You are—variety. And that is what I crave for the long-term relationship—and what no other girl can provide. I read Xanth as a kid but when I went to get them for my daughter, I was shocked at the cesspool of sexism and misogyny they are. I loved Clifford D. Simak as a kid, but when I read one again recently, I was horrified. It explained a lot to me about why we have remedial work to do on pretty much everything related to human relationship skills.

Yes, same. Have you tried Tolkien? Lots of excellent vocabulary in those books. Violence level is similar to Innkeeper, but there are guns and the world is quite a bit more broken. Functioning, but broken. But I shall try: Negotiations with the murder trees: We kill. You die. End of story. On the other hand, it is quite straight forward. After all the talk about a collective empathy, that came out of nowhere and almost had me snorting tea with laughter.

Do they have a chant too? Someone with a hyped-up megaphone? The guy who is constantly described as smiling is be Pivor yep, I may just have re-read a chapter or two. Or three. The corrupted ad-hal was totally impressive on the first read and a bit confusing on the second read. It gave Dina and Karat a great chance to shine! But clearly, the corruption or whoever controls it has a plan that involves manipulating Dina and Sean by luring them to that deadly planet. If so, this just spectacularly backfired because the messenger got his ass kicked and his corruption purified for walking in there without backup!

We might never know now what the intentions were because the female werewolf jumped in and started trouble before Dina had a chance to figure out! I am anti-hothead for once! I said above the female werewolf might get an invite to the inn now, and it seems like she helped, but … did she? And if so, why? What is her stake in this whole issue? Is she secretly in love with Wilmos and simply lost it when she saw his hair?

If she wanted to impress anyone, interrupting the start of a conversation and getting herself barbecued was a pretty bad way to go about it. Also, what was up with those protesters? A whole chapter — what a treat! This was lovely to read and a much appreciated bright spot. Thank you!!

My wonder: is her broom a little pocket extension of the inn? I love the part where her roots are too deep, you cannot move her! And here is a question out of left field. Life happens. The BDH knows that and should be more than willing to wait for quality reading. Holy shit! I just …. You guys, you just continue to build and surprise and …. I think I need a nap. Excellent chapter. Way to leave us wanting more over the next 3 weeks. Hope everything works out for your family.

Remember, House Andrews likes to be tricky, tricky. I would not assume that there is only one assassin in this bunch. But it would seem that at least one of the male, humanish candidates are guilty as charged. I am glad that Lady Wexyn has been somewhat vindicated by the First Scholar, I voted for her in the first poll, but the oombole? Also, where is Gaston gotten to? Strange things are afoot at the Gertrude Hunt! Good luck with these next few weeks, House Andrews.

I hope you get some enjoyable time to welcome in Summer. Holy crow. I hope your weeks go by quickly, try not to stress too hard about the updates. The Hoard is patient. You guys are amazing! This was soooo good, and totally improved what was a very bad day. Thank you, thank you! So much to consider in one chapter! Thank you, and I hope the next few weeks are kind to you. I love the fact that female warriors come in all types, sizes, shapes and oh so many races.

You bring them all together is a verbal dance like no other. Encore, encore! I so want to see a relationship between Karat and Dagorkun. Soren will probably hit Arland up for a whole vat of Earth coffee unless he has some of his own if that happens. Could this be a ship? Dina was awesome. I guess it is worth it to have had all of Chapter 16 at once. Enjoy each other and any family and friends with you.

Everybody needs time to decompress, and you have been under the gun alot lately, and probably could use some rest and relaxation. The BDH will wait patiently or not for the next installment of Sweep of the Heart until you have had the time you need for other things. As much as we love your work, and are champing at the bit for whatever we can get from HA, we also appreciate the fact that you have other commitments, and that SOTH is a gift you give us on the blog simply from your generosity.

Take whatever time you need. The BDH wishes nothing but the best for HA, and will be here waiting for whatever you wish to post, whenever you wish to post it. Instead of being so presumptious though, I will just speak for myself. I appreciate your generosity in giving us the Innkeeper installments about as much as I enjoy all of your works, which is tremendously!

As it is a gift freely given by you, I just am delighted to read each posting you make, whenever you make it. I hope that you are on vacation, and that although you planned on taking your computers with you, that you are able to put them and all work related tasks aside and enjoy yourselves!! Wow, what a cliff-hanger!!

This book is very exciting. I really enjoyed watching Dina kill another corrupted ad-hal. So satisfying. Hang in there and thanks so much for this chapter. And the photo was great — reminiscent of Chihuly glass. So enjoyable. In a word: WOW! Thanks for the incredible chapter and all the hard work it, no doubt, demanded. The fight with the corrupted ad-hal was the high point go, girls!

Many thanks for the wonderful gift of fun things to ponder! Is Gorvar sentient? Is Gorvar a vampire? I think Karat will be telling Maud that her little sister can definitely fight! But Sean is going to be soooo mad! Looking gorward to finding out more about the protestors too!

I would find it so funny if everything with Marais if his wife was already in the know about aliens! Maybe as those rare Innkeeper children that go and have normal lives? Oh my stars! That would explain sooo much. Marais is the Costco Lady. That would explain why she was so non-plussed in her reaction to the stalker and helped beat it down.

I could see Mrs. If she was related to Innkeepers, she would know about the Earth Treaty, and not to do that. Go Dina!! Hey all, what about Surkor of the Otrokar? Not that I think he is the villain in this act of the play…but he is a male candidate so he could be. Fab chapter. Faceoffs galore. However, I did entertain myself at an early part with the idea that the first scholar was actually the assassin…. If her roots run deep in Bar Char , …..

We know Gerard was a human, a swordsman and a bit of a confidence trickster heh. He has been described as a guest who battled to allow the Innkeeper and her children a chance to escape and became trapped as an effect of his efforts. It likely affected the inn as well…. Those who know of the inns and are allowed to keep that knowledge are usually welcome at the inns. For example, Officer Marais will never have to worry about lodging if he is in a city with an inn.

Girls trip!! Sadly no drinks involved, but vigorous exercise spiced with a corrupt ad-hal — woooo!! I propose a new joke: a female vampire, werewolf and Innkeeper meet on Baha-char….. Also, took me a minute to get the Paul Bunyan reference Aussie here! What a great chapter! From start to finish it was awesome and had my full attention. A werewolf, a vampire and an innkeeper…a female fighting squad?

Anyway, I love it! You are very good to us. Oh my goodness! This chapter was incredible! I was literally on the edge of my seat as I read the fight scene with the corrupted ad-hal! I need a minute to get my breath back…. Oh My God, that was fantastic. I kept getting interrupted but was finally able to finish it. Thank you, thank you , thank you, that was amazing. What a way for a Friday to end. Whoot Whoot. Love this! Hope it turns out as well as it did with Lord Soren.

I had tapped Resven as the assassin. I had a real hate on him lol. I wonder if the pirate is in control of the corruption? Intriguing thought. Now we have several weeks to ponder it. Take good care of one another and emerge well rested and renewed.

What an exciting chapter! I love all the various characters and trying to figure out what happens next. Love your writing. Wanted to ask if it would be possible to have the link to the previous chapter nearer the tip of the page — reason being that I quite often need to remind myself of what happened last week. Memory now sucks because if long covid.

I know. Picky, picky picky. Anyway, scrolling to the bottom of the page is small price to pay for next episode in great story. I loved the twists. So the assassin unless more than one is looking for the bounty is a male. That narrows things down. But maybe if they can modify genes, they can modify gender? Hmmm so maybe it is not a male at this moment?

Loved Oond but it seems terribly unfair for him to be separated from his family for that long. He seems a sensitive and empathetic soul which would be very difficult. So go, Ellenda! That would be an interesting pair and a power duo. Enemies to friends to lovers vibe. Tea is a good start. If they can sit down at the table to have a comfortable chat, that is close to becoming at least friendly acquaintances.

I thought about gender change camouflage as well, but the woman recognized him, so probably not. Thank you great House of Andrews for the blessings this friday! Take a deep breath and go with the flow. Take care of yourselves and we will be here for you when you come back. Oooooh, more pirates, more corruption, thank you!

Who has set the bounty and why? All the very best for the next weeks. I am very excited to see the reactions that light show. A werewolf, a vampire Knight and an Innkeeper enter the battle with evil. The Innkeeper and her broom save the day. Never underestimate a woman weilding a broom. I hope that in the midst of the chaos you manage some vaccation time.

Having had house repairs turn out to be worse than first thought myself I guess that is the root of the chaos, but I hope whatever the chaos is it is not as bad as you expect. No wonder they view her a threat. But the mystery is what do they want? So exciting! Thank you so much for this thrilling chapter. I often wish I could draw or sketch the amazing descriptions you create with words. Amazing chapter, thank you House Andrews and good luck with your renovstions.

So many things and then the epic fight. And I stand corrected on my detracting style points from Lady Wexyns debate- would the first scholar maybe be amenable to giving lectures to earth citizens? Where Do I sign up please? Well, to be human, alive and to live life means chaos at times. Enjoy life House Andrews. Ooh, so much excitement! I wonder which face the scaled woman showed Dina? One of the candidates, or maybe one of the retinue? Maybe she helped get Wilmos kidnapped and attacked to prevent Dina from finding out more information.

I kinda wondered. Desperate people do weird shit! That werewolf seems pretty desperate to bag Sean as a trophy!! The slimiest entrapment! Please do what you need — we can definitely wait! This chapter just catapulted the book into favorite book category! Holy heck yeah Dina!!!! House Andrews writes such brilliant women! Philosophers are dangerous people. Fabulous chapter — looking forward towards the next instalment towards the end of the month — perfect birthday pressie grins.

A previous contestant requested a clarification to their question and was told to roll their own. Amphie had no reason to believe that any request for clarification on her part would result in anything else. I felt relieved and vindicated the First Scholar said what he said.

If Amphie wrote music she would suck at it because love is emotional. What a stunning chapter! Had my heart in my throat!! Thank you!!! Also, go Team Wexyn! Sean is going to be pissed she got into trouble without him and proud she handled it beautifully at the same time. Go Dina! On a separate note, out of pure curiosity, would it be possible to identify who the former, pre-corruption ad hal was? Maybe from any surviving DNA from the cloak fragments or splattered goop?

I forgot about them until rereading. They were just there to recharge their batteries before heading home. And there was 5 days between them being there and the spousal selection shenanigans. It seems now we can have a pretty good guess about who the assassin is. Also Oond no clothes, no haircut , Cyanide no clothes and The Donkamin candidate no smile are not the assassin. Of those I do not believe Surkar to be the assassin. Otrokar bodies are adapted from a young age to their role in combat.

I doubt that this can be imitated. Furthermore the assassin is a space pirate. And Dagorkun probably would have spotted a pirate posing as an Otrokar. Also I think Prysen Ol is not the assassin. The First Scholar indicated he is very well educated and has original thoughts and insights. To me this does not fit the mindset of a pirate. My main candidates for assassin are 1 Nycati. Dina noted that Nycati outranked the leader of his delegation. Which would be consistent with the son of a pirate king.

It matters, you know? Understatement of the century! Perfect couple. Did they meet on Love Connection or something? He walks over to Evelyn and bows next to her, checking out his reflection in the mirror. Patrick, get your friend away from me. He looks deep into the mirror. He notices this and then smells her neck and I think he licks at it quickly and grins.

I smell it. I go to a tanning salon. I tense up. Timothy is in her lap trying to push his head under the Ralph Lauren robe. I am fairly sure that Timothy and Evelyn are having an affair. Timothy is the only interesting person I know.

She has stopped struggling with him. He stands up. My espresso! He is completely silent as I walk him out of the brownstone. After he leaves I pour myself a brandy and drink it from a checkered Italian tumbler and when I come back to the bedroom I find Evelyn lying in bed watching the Home Shopping Club. I lie down next to her and loosen my Armani tie. Finally I ask something without looking at her.

I place the tumbler on the nightstand and roll over on top of her. While I kiss and lick her neck she stares passionlessly at the wide- screen Panasonic remote-control television set and lowers the volume. I finish it. Evelyn is addicted to Parnate, an antidepressant. I lie there beside her watching the Home Shopping Club—at glass dolls, embroidered throw pillows, lamps shaped like footballs, Lady Zirconia—with the sound turned off.

Evelyn starts drifting. I really doubt it. I masturbate, thinking about first Evelyn, then Courtney, then Vanden and then Evelyn again, but right before I come—a weak orgasm—about a near-naked model in a halter top I saw today in a Calvin Klein advertisement.

Morning In the early light of a May dawn this is what the living room of my apartment looks like: Over the white marble and granite gas-log fireplace hangs an original David Onica. A hurricane halogen lamp is placed in each corner of the living room.

Thin white Venetian blinds cover all eight floor-to-ceiling windows. Next to the Wurlitzer jukebox is a black ebony Baldwin concert grand piano. A polished white oak floor runs throughout the apartment. On the other side of the room, next to a desk and a magazine rack by Gio Ponti, is a complete stereo system CD player, tape deck, tuner, amplifier by Sansui with six-foot Duntech Sovereign speakers in Brazilian rosewood.

A down-filled futon lies on an oakwood frame in the center of the bedroom. Against the wall is a Panasonic thirty-one-inch set with a direct-view screen and stereo sound and beneath it in a glass case is a Toshiba VCR. A black-dotted beige and white Maud Sienna carpet covers most of the floor. One wall is hidden by four chests of immense bleached mahogany drawers. I urinate while trying to make out the puffiness of my reflection in the glass that encases a baseball poster hung above the toilet.

Afterwards I stand in front of a chrome and acrylic Washmobile bathroom sink—with soap dish, cup holder, and railings that serve as towel bars, which I bought at Hastings Tile to use while the marble sinks I ordered from Finland are being sanded—and stare at my reflection with the ice pack still on.

I pour some Plax antiplaque formula into a stainless-steel tumbler and swish it around my mouth for thirty seconds. Then I squeeze Rembrandt onto a faux-tortoise- shell toothbrush and start brushing my teeth too hung over to floss properly—but maybe I flossed before bed last night?

Then I inspect my hands and use a nailbrush. I take the ice- pack mask off and use a deep-pore cleanser lotion, then an herb-mint facial masque which I leave on for ten minutes while I check my toenails. Then I use the Probright tooth polisher and next the Interplak tooth polisher this in addition to the toothbrush which has a speed of rpm and reverses direction forty-six times per second; the larger tufts clean between teeth and massage the gums while the short ones scrub the tooth surfaces.

I rinse again, with Cepacol. I wash the facial massage off with a spearmint face scrub. The shower has a universal all-directional shower head that adjusts within a thirty-inch vertical range. In the shower I use first a water-activated gel cleanser, then a honey-almond body scrub, and on the face an exfoliating gel scrub. Vidal Sassoon shampoo is especially good at getting rid of the coating of dried perspiration, salts, oils, airborne pollutants and dirt that can weigh down hair and flatten it to the scalp which can make you look older.

The conditioner is also good— silicone technology permits conditioning benefits without weighing down the hair which can also make you look older. Also the Vivagen Hair Enrichment Treatment, a new Redken product that prevents mineral deposits and prolongs the life cycle of hair. Luis Carruthers recommended the Aramis Nutriplexx system, a nutrient complex that helps increase circulation.

Once out of the shower and toweled dry I put the Ralph Lauren boxers back on and before applying the Mousse A Raiser, a shaving cream by Pour Hommes, I press a hot towel against my face for two minutes to soften abrasive beard hair. Then I always slather on a moisturizer to my taste, Clinique and let it soak in for a minute.

It also helps prevent water from evaporating and reduces friction between your skin and the blade. Always wet the razor with warm water before shaving and shave in the direction the beard grows, pressing gently on the skin. Leave the sideburns and chin for last, since these whiskers are tougher and need more time to soften.

Rinse the razor and shake off any excess water before starting. Afterwards splash cool water on the face to remove any trace of lather. You should use an aftershave lotion with little or no alcohol. Never use cologne on your face, since the high alcohol content dries your face out and makes you look older. One should use an alcohol-free antibacterial toner with a water-moistened cotton ball to normalize the skin.

Applying a moisturizer is the final step. Splash on water before applying an emollient lotion to soften the skin and seal in the moisture. Next apply Gel Appaisant, also made by Pour Hommes, which is an excellent, soothing skin lotion. If the face seems dry and flaky—which makes it look dull and older—use a clarifying lotion that removes flakes and uncovers fine skin it can also make your tan look darker.

A scalp-programming lotion is used after I towel my hair dry. I also lightly blow-dry the hair to give it body and control but without stickiness and then add more of the lotion, shaping it with a Kent natural-bristle brush, and finally slick it back with a wide-tooth comb. The laser lens is very sensitive, and subject to interference from dust or dirt or smoke or pollutants or moisture, and a dirty one can inaccurately read CDs, making for false starts, inaudible passages, digital skipping, speed changes and general distortion; the lens cleaner has a cleaning brush that automatically aligns with the lens then the disk spins to remove residue and particles.

I retrieve the copy of USA Today that lies in front of my door in the hallway and bring it with me into the kitchen where I take two Advil, a multivitamin and a potassium tablet, washing them down with a large bottle of Evian water since the maid, an elderly Chinese woman, forgot to turn the dishwasher on when she left yesterday, and then I have to pour the grapefruit-lemon juice into a St.

I check the neon clock that hangs over the refrigerator to make sure I have enough time to eat breakfast unhurriedly. I take a bran muffin, a decaffeinated herbal tea bag and a box of oat-bran cereal from one of the large glass-front cabinets that make up most of an entire wall in the kitchen; complete with stainless-steel shelves and sandblasted wire glass, it is framed in a metallic dark gray-blue.

A bowl of oat-bran cereal with wheat germ and soy milk follows; another bottle of Evian water and a small cup of decaf tea after that. Next to the Panasonic bread baker and the Salton Pop-Up coffee maker is the Cremina sterling silver espresso maker which is, oddly, still warm that I got at Hammacher Schlemmer the thermal-insulated stainless-steel espresso cup and the saucer and spoon are sitting by the sink, stained and the Sharp Model RA Carousel II microwave oven with revolving turntable which I use when I heat up the other half of the bran muffin.

The suit I wear today is from Alan Flusser. The favored version has extended natural shoulders, a full chest and a bladed back. The soft-rolled lapels should be about four inches wide with the peak finishing three quarters of the way across the shoulders. Properly used on double-breasted suits, peaked lapels are considered more elegant than notched ones. Four buttons form a low-slung square; above it, about where the lapels cross, there are two more buttons.

The trousers are deeply pleated and cut full in order to continue the flow of the wide jacket. An extended waist is cut slightly higher in the front. Tabs make the suspenders fit well at the center back. The tie is a dotted silk design by Valentino Couture. The shoes are crocodile loafers by A. Tell us. Mostly … Lambchop. The camera cuts to a close-up of a stunned housewife shaking her head, another housewife whispering something to her.

I take the elevator downstairs to the lobby, rewinding my Rolex by gently shaking my wrist. I say good morning to the doorman, step outside and hail a cab, heading downtown toward Wall Street. Van Patten is wearing a double-breasted wool and silk sport coat, button-fly wool and silk trousers with inverted pleats by Mario Valentino, a cotton shirt by Gitman Brothers, a polka-dot silk tie by Bill Blass and leather shoes from Brooks Brothers.

McDermott is wearing a woven-linen suit with pleated trousers, a button-down cotton and linen shirt by Basile, a silk tie by Joseph Abboud and ostrich loafers from Susan Bennis Warren Edwards. The two are hunched over the table, writing on the backs of paper napkins, a Scotch and a martini placed respectively in front of them.

They wave us over. Carruthers is not dressed well: a four-button double-breasted wool suit, I think by Chaps, a striped cotton shirt and a silk bow tie plus horn-rimmed eyeglasses by Oliver Peoples. Bartenders always ignore Luis for some reason. What do you think? He brushes past Luis, who offers his hand. Price smiles, says something, moves on, strides over to our table. He hands me the drink then sits down, crossing his legs.

Part two, which tie knot looks best with them? I turn around to see who it is. Now shut up and listen. I want a blow-job, Bateman. I just want some chick whose face I can sit on for thirty, forty minutes. McDermott rolls his eyes up.

We all take this in solemnly. No one says anything but we are all thinking the same thought: Never pick up a Vassar girl. He bends down, balancing himself by putting a hand on the back of my chair. No babes, no blow, no brew. She calls her father—get this—Billy. You got one? It looks a helluva lot like him. Over there. You spin a dreidel. By the way, nice jacket; nonmatching but complementary.

Finish it. One hand on my cock, one hand on my balls, go on. Now it looks to me like his silk bow tie is by Agnes B. Preston looks at me. Because the last time I fucked a nigger she stole my wallet. And after a short moment of silence, the table cracks up too, except for me. Van Patten gives him high-five. Even Price laughs. Will see you tomorrow. Preston leans forward before leaving. After we piled into a cab on Water Street we realized that no one had made reservations anywhere and while debating the merits of a new Californian-Sicilian bistro on the Upper East Side—my panic so great I almost ripped Zagat in two—the consensus seemed to emerge.

He slipped his Walkman on and turned the volume up so loud that the sound of Vivaldi was audible even with the windows halfway open and the noise of the uptown traffic blasting into the taxi. Things seem to be going smoothly. Plus there are four women at the table opposite ours, all great-looking—blond, big tits: one is wearing a chemise dress in double-faced wool by Calvin Klein, another is wearing a wool knit dress and jacket with silk faille bonding by Geoffrey Beene, another is wearing a symmetrical skirt of pleated tulle and an embroidered velvet bustier by, I think, Christian Lacroix plus high-heeled shoes by Sidonie Larizzi, and the last one is wearing a black strapless sequined gown under a wool crepe tailored jacket by Bill Blass.

Price orders the tapas and then the venison with yogurt sauce and fiddlehead ferns with mango slices. McDermott orders the sashimi with goat cheese and then the smoked duck with endive and maple syrup. Van Patten has the scallop sausage and the grilled salmon with raspberry vinegar and guacamole. The busboy humbly removes the glasses, nodding to no one as he walks away. Look who just came in. Paul Owen? He has obviously been spotted by the person and flashes a bright, toothy smile.

Scott Montgomery walks over to our booth wearing a double- breasted navy blue blazer with mock-tortoiseshell buttons, a prewashed wrinkled-cotton striped dress shirt with red accent stitching, a red, white and blue fireworks-print silk tie by Hugo Boss and plum washed-wool trousers with a quadruple-pleated front and slashed pockets by Lazo. High-heeled shoes by Susan Bennis Warren Edwards. Sunglasses by Alain Mikli. Get the check yet? Just kidding. Nicki slinks behind him. I was wrong: she does have an ass.

Anorexic, alcoholic, uptight bitch. Totally French. I want to fuck her. I want to marry her. I want her to have my children. Fuck off, you faggots. Take a look. Not bad, huh? Dizzy, I sip my drink then take a deep breath. I am unexpectedly depressed that I started this. Red snapper? My card lies on the table, ignored next to an orchid in a blue glass vase. Gently I pick it up and slip it, folded, back into my wallet. Shut up. There are now eight Bellinis on the table. A pizza should be yeasty and slightly bready and have a cheesy crust!

The crusts here are too fucking thin because the shithead chef who cooks here overbakes everything! The pizza is dried out and brittle! A hardbody waitress stands looking down at me with this strange, glazed expression. I wipe a hand over my face, genially smiling up at her. She stands there looking at me as if I were some kind of monster—she actually looks scared—and I glance over at Price—for what?

She flinches but I smile and she lets me pull her closer. So, you know, warn him. The left knee is knobbier, almost imperceptibly thicker than the right knee and this unnoticeable flaw now seems overwhelming and we all lose interest. Where do you go? But when he sees no one else laughing he stops. There are things one could do with it besides getting a tan. It makes me not hungry but our meals arrive almost immediately after our appetizers are taken away and we begin to eat.

McDermott undoes his suspenders. Price calls him a slob. I feel paralyzed but manage to turn away from Owen and stare at my plate the potpie a yellow hexagon, strips of smoked salmon circling it, squiggles of pea-green tomatillo sauce artfully surrounding the dish and then I gaze at the waiting crowd. They seem hostile, drunk on complimentary Bellinis perhaps, tired of waiting hours for shitty tables near the open kitchen even though they had reservations.

Van Patten interrupts the silence at our table by slamming his fork down and pushing his chair back. I sigh and put the fork down, hopeless. I have to tape this movie on cable for Mandy. I think I gave thumbs-up to Conrad. Once she leaves, McDermott asks if we liked the food. I tell him the potpie was fine but there was way too much tomatillo sauce. The hardbody brings the check over.

We split it but I need the cash so I put it on my platinum AmEx and collect their bills, mostly fresh fifties. McDermott demands ten dollars back since his scallop sausage appetizer was only sixteen bucks.

Outside Pastels a different bum sits in the street, with a sign that says something completely illegible. He gently asks us for some change and then, more hopefully, for some food. He gives me high-five. Price handles this all suavely, somehow, either by tipping the dorks or by persuading them with his clout probably the former. It gets quieter as we move into the front hallway, heading toward the actual entrance, and we pass by three hardbodies.

Those girls were very hot. Subtlety is not what these girls are after. Van Patten laughs and still in motion they give each other high-five. We hand our tickets to an okay-looking girl wearing a wool-melton duffel coat and a silk scarf from Hermes. These are some skanky chicks. I can just feel it. The music is so loud that conversation is possible only by screaming. The club is fairly packed; the only real light coming in flashes off the dance floor.

Everyone is wearing a tuxedo. Everyone is drinking champagne. The guy who lets them pass is wearing a double-breasted wool tuxedo, a cotton wing-collar shirt by Cerruti and a black and white checkered silk bow tie from Martin Dingman Neckwear. Madison stands around, nodding to various people who pass by in the crush. Finally Price loses his cool. Great to meet you, Hugh. Use your drink tickets. You, Hugh, Who, fades into the crowd. I follow Price over to the railings.

As a joke I almost bring Tim a Bellini but he seems far too edgy tonight to appreciate this so I wade back through the crowd to where he stands and hand him the Absolut and he takes it thanklessly and finishes it with one gulp, looks at the glass and grimaces, giving me an accusatory look. I shrug helplessly. He resumes staring at the train tracks as if possessed. There are very few chicks in Tunnel tonight. Carruthers is out of town. Ice cubes clank loudly, surprising me.

She expects to be paid. They all do. I get bored watching Price, who is neither moving nor speaking. The only reason he occasionally turns away from the train tracks is to look for Madison or Ricardo. No women anywhere, just an army of professionals from Wall Street in tuxedos. He sticks his own platinum American Express card into the powder, bringing it up to his nose to inhale it. I do some of it and come to the same conclusion. Price stares at me, eyes widening in disbelief, then flies into a rage and whirls around, pounding his fist against the side of the stall.

Price leans against the door of our stall and stares at me in this hopeless way. Stepping out of the stall we wash our hands, inspecting our reflections in the mirror, and, once satisfied, head back to the Chandelier Room. I finally have to lay a twenty on the counter to get her attention, even though I have plenty of drink tickets left.

It works. Taking advantage of the drink tickets, I order two double Stolis on the rocks. She pours the drinks in front of me. She shakes her head again. Not Hunter. She continues to concentrate on the bottle of Stoli. I decide not to continue the conversation and just slap the drink tickets on the bar as she places the two glasses in front of me. I leave the cunt no tip and find Price who is standing again, morosely, by the railings, his hands gripping the steel bars.

Price says nothing, not even thanks. He just holds the drink and mournfully stares at the tracks and then he squints and bends his head down to the glass and when the strobe lights start flashing, he stands up straight and murmurs something to himself. There seem to be more girls in the Chandelier Room now and I try to make eye contact with one of them —model type with big tits. Price nudges me and I lean in to ask if we should perhaps get another gram. Is that Conrad? Owen pulls out a cigar, then asks for a light.

The Chandelier Room is packed and everyone looks familiar, everyone looks the same. Cigar smoke hangs heavy, floating in midair, and the music, INXS again, is louder than ever, but building toward what? I touch my brow by mistake and my fingers come back wet. At the bar I pick up some matches. On my way back through the crowd I bump into McDermott and Van Patten, who start begging me for more drink tickets. No hardbodies. Behind him the strobe light continues to flash off and on and off and on and the smoke machine is going like crazy, gray mist billowing up, enveloping him.

Only a few of the faces are fixated on Tim, still balancing on the railing, eyes half closed, shouting something. He stumbles once, twice, with the strobe light flashing, in what looks like slow motion, but he regains his composure before disappearing into blackness.

A security guard sits idly by the railing as Price recedes into the tunnel. He just shakes his head, I think. Come back! Madison is standing nearby and sticks his hand out as if to congratulate me for something. Twelve-thirty and we watch limousines try to make left turns onto the West Side Highway. The three of us, Van Patten, McDermott and myself, discuss the possibilities of finding this new club called Nekenieh.

Then private workout. I have taken out a gold Cross pen to write down the name of the restaurant in my address book. The doors shut. I am wearing a mini-houndstooth-check wool suit with pleated trousers by Hugo Boss, a silk tie, also by Hugo Boss, a cotton broadcloth shirt by Joseph Abboud and shoes from Brooks Brothers.

I flossed too hard this morning and I can still taste the coppery residue of swallowed blood in the back of my throat. I pull my Walkman off from around my neck as I approach her desk. She looks up and smiles shyly. Any messages? And what should I say? I sigh and place my hands together, sitting down at the Palazzetti glass-top desk, the halogen lamps on both sides already burning.

All right? I get up and move all these sporting magazines from the forties—they cost me thirty bucks apiece—that I bought at Funchies, Bunkers, Gaks and Gleeks, and then I lift the Stubbs painting off the wall and balance it on the table then sit back at my desk and fiddle with the pencils I keep in a vintage German beer stein I got from Man-tiques. The Stubbs looks good in either place. Listen, keep your eyes open for a tanning bed, okay?

Remind me to return the videotapes I rented last night back to the store. That sounds good. And Jean? I mean how else are you going to keep up that devilishly handsome skin tone? I have a great secretary. She comes into the office five minutes later with the Perrier, a wedge of lime and the Ransom file, which she did not need to bring, and I am vaguely touched by her almost total devotion to me.

Wear a dress. A skirt or something. The phone on her desk rings. She turns to leave. In the two years since I signed up as a member, it has been remodeled three times and though they carry the latest weight machines Nautilus, Universal, Keiser they have a vast array of free weights which I like to use also. Membership runs five thousand dollars annually. Satisfied, I turn the Walkman on, the volume up, and leave the locker room. Cheryl, this dumpy chick who is in love with me, sits at her desk up front signing people in, reading one of the gossip columns in the Post, and she brightens up noticeably when she sees me approaching.

No hardbodies at the gym today. Only faggots from the West Side, probably unemployed actors, waiters by night, and Muldwyn Butner of Sachs, who I went to Exeter with, over at the biceps curl machine. Butner is wearing a pair of knee-length nylon and Lycra shorts with checkerboard inserts and a cotton and Lycra tank top and leather Reeboks. I finish twenty minutes on the Stairmaster and let the overmuscled, bleached-blond, middle-aged faggot behind me use it and I commence with stretching exercises.

The topic was Big Breasts and there was a woman on it who had a breast reduction since she thought her tits were too big— the dumb bitch. I immediately called McDermott who was also watching it and we both ridiculed the woman through the rest of the segment. I do about fifteen minutes of stretching before heading off to the Nautilus machines. I used to have a personal trainer whom Luis Carruthers had recommended but he came on to me last fall and I decided to develop my own fitness program which incorporates both aerobic exercises and training.

With weights I alternate between free weights and weight machines that use hydraulic, pneumatic or electromechanical resistance. Most of the machines are very efficient since computerized keypads allow one to make adjustments in weight resistance without getting up. The positive aspects of the machines include minimizing muscle soreness and reducing any chance of injury.

On the leg machines I do five sets of ten repetitions. For the back I also do five sets of ten repetitions. Before moving to the free weights I spend twenty minutes on the exercise bike while reading the new issue of Money magazine. For the chest I do three sets and twenty reps of incline-bench presses. For the front deltoids I also do three sets of lateral raises and seated dumbbell presses.

Finally, for the triceps I do three sets and twenty reps of cable pushdowns and close- grip bench presses. I buy Lesbian Vibrator Bitches and Cunt on Cunt along with the current Sports Illustrated and the new issue of Esquire, even though I subscribe to them and both have already arrived in the mail.

I wait until the stand is empty to make my purchase. The vendor says something, motions toward his hook nose, while handing me the magazines along with my change. It comes away red, wet with blood. I reach into my Hugo Boss overcoat and bring out a Polo handkerchief and wipe the blood away, nod my thanks, slip my Wayfarer aviator sunglasses back on and leave.

Fucking Iranian. When it dawns on him that I want to ask something, he sighs, rolls his eyes up and tells whoever is on the line to hold on. Maybe even please? I am something unreal, something not quite tangible, yet still an obstacle of sorts and he nods, gets back on the phone, resumes speaking in a dialect totally alien to me. I collect my mail—Polo catalog, American Express bill, June Playboy, invitation to an office party at a new club called Bedlam— then walk to the elevator, step in while inspecting the Ralph Lauren brochure and press the button for my floor and then the Close Door button, but someone gets in right before the doors shut and instinctively I turn to say hello.

I thought it was quite a good movie, and Top Gun too. I really thought that was good. Not Bartender. The film was called Cocktail. Pat Bateman. We stand there in silence. While loosening my Matisse- inspired blue silk tie from Bill Robinson I dial her number and walk across the apartment, cordless phone in hand, to flip on the air- conditioning.

She answers on the third ring. Can I call you back? I go into the bedroom and take off what I was wearing today: a herringbone wool suit with pleated trousers by Giorgio Correggiari, a cotton oxford shirt by Ralph Lauren, a knit tie from Paul Stuart and suede shoes from Cole-Haan.

After ten minutes of stretching, the phone rings and I wait six rings to answer it. I put her on hold for two minutes, then get back on the line. I open the refrigerator and take out a liter of Evian. The two of us. I want you to do what you want to do.

I mean for us? I just wanted you to see them. What are you doing? Listen, calm down, okay? With trembling fingers I dial the number. Panicked, I put the phone on Constant Redial and for the next five minutes nothing but a busy signal, faithful and ominous, repeats itself across the line. Stunned, feverish, feeling empty, I contemplate the next move, the only sound the dial tone buzzing noisily from the receiver.

Gather my bearings, count to six, reopen the Zagat guide and steadily regain my concentration against the almost overwhelming panic about securing an eight-thirty reservation somewhere if not as trendy as Dorsia then at least in the next-best league. I take a hot shower and afterwards use a new facial scrub by Caswell-Massey and a body wash by Greune, then a body moisturizer by Lubriderm and a Neutrogena facial cream. I debate between two outfits.

One is a wool- crepe suit by Bill Robinson I bought at Saks with this cotton jacquard shirt from Charivari and an Armani tie. Or a wool and cashmere sport coat with blue plaid, a cotton shirt and pleated wool trousers by Alexander Julian, with a polka-dot silk tie by Bill Blass. A bottle of Scharffenberger is on ice in a Spiros spun-aluminum bowl which is in a Christine Van der Hurd etched-glass champagne cooler which sits on a Cristofle silver-plated bar tray.

I have a glass of it while waiting for her, occasionally rearranging the Steuben animals on the glass-top coffee table by Turchin, or sometimes I flip through the last hardcover book I bought, something by Garrison Keillor. Patricia is late. This is simply how the world, my world, moves. She gives a little gasp when I drop the news, ignores the apologies and turns away from me to glare out the window. Her eyes, I swear, intermittently tear. She orders the red snapper with violets and pine nuts and for an appetizer a peanut butter soup with smoked duck and mashed squash which sounds strange but is actually quite good.

The cab stops outside Tunnel. I pay the fare and leave the driver a decent tip and hold the door open for Patricia who ignores my hand when I try to help her step out of the cab. No one stands outside the ropes tonight. Once inside, after paying fifty dollars for the two of us, I head immediately to the bar without really caring if Patricia follows.

She wants a Perrier, no lime, and orders this herself. Patricia and myself are the only two customers in the entire club. We are, except for the occasional hardbody, literally the only two people in Tunnel. I move past them as they stand by the bar drinking champagne and head over toward this extremely well-dressed Mexican-looking guy sitting on a couch. I ask the guy if his name is Ricardo. He nods. I pull my wallet out and hand over a fifty and two twenties.

He asks the Eurotrash chick for her purse. She hands him a velvet bag by Anne Moore. Ricardo reaches in and hands me a tiny folded envelope. Before I leave, the Eurotrash girl tells me she likes my gazelleskin wallet. Back upstairs I find Patricia where I left her, alone at the bar, nursing a Perrier.

Listen, do you want to do some coke? She puts her drink down on the bar and follows me through the deserted club, up the stairs toward the rest rooms. She comes back apologizing for her behavior earlier this evening. But, oh yeah, I really loved the food at Barcadia. How long has it been open? I read a great review in New York or maybe it was Gourmet.

Avatar is such a great lead singer and I actually thought I was in love with him once—well, actually I was in lust, not love. Hand I am thinking. Shirt from Charivari. Fusilli I am thinking. Jami Gertz I am thinking. I would like to fuck Jami Gertz I am thinking. Porsche A sharpei I am thinking. I would like to own a sharpei. I am twenty-six years old I am thinking. I will be twenty-seven next year.

A Valium. I would like a Valium. No, two Valium I am thinking. Cellular phone I am thinking. Dry Cleaners The Chinese dry cleaners I usually send my bloody clothes to delivered back to me yesterday a Soprani jacket, two white Brooks Brothers shirts and a tie from Agnes B. I have a lunch appointment at noon—in forty minutes—and beforehand I decide to stop by the cleaners and complain.

In addition to the Soprani jacket, the shirts and tie, I bring along a bag of bloodstained sheets that also need cleaning. Because of this excursion I have no time for a morning workout, and since I overslept, owing to a late-night—predawn coke binge with Charles Griffin and Hilton Ashbury that started innocently enough at a magazine party none of us were invited to at M.

I look sharp but my stomach is doing flip-flops, my brain is churning. Did I do this on purpose? Or did I do this accidentally? The old woman keeps jabbering in what I guess is Chinese and finally I have to interrupt. I brush her hand away and, leaning in, speak very slowly. Oh my god. Out of the question. These are very expensive sheets and I really need them clean.

Her face overall, maybe because of the wrinkles, seems oddly expressionless. Then, casually, I cut her off, talking over her again. I have never firebombed anything and I start wondering how one goes about it—what materials are involved, gasoline, matches … or would it be lighter fluid? You want some ham? Is that what you just said? You want … some ham? Her husband stands behind the counter, sullen and detached.

She jabbers back, undaunted, pointing relentlessly at the stains on the sheets. Taking off her sunglasses she offers a wide smile. Coming all the way up here, but you know they really are the best. I glare at her, forcing myself not to mimic the hand gestures. Oh really? You said Samantha. I examine her carefully in the seconds it takes to move from the edge of the sidewalk to the steps leading up to the brownstone where she sits, her head bowed down, staring dumbly into her empty lap.

She looks up, unsmiling, after she notices me standing over her. Did I say that? I think you should concentrate on wearing a belt that coordinates with the trousers. Hamlin is wearing a suit by Lubiam, a great-looking striped spread-collar cotton shirt from Burberry, a silk tie by Resikeio and a belt from Ralph Lauren. Anthony rests on an empty chair by our table.

One of our CD Walkman headsets lies in the middle of the table surrounded by drinks and a calculator. Reeves and Hamlin left the office early today for facials somewhere and they both look good, faces pink but tan, hair short and slicked back. I knew that.

Trent is wearing a mini-houndstooth-check worsted wool suit with multicolored overplaid. Is that Trent Moore? He puts on his clear prescription eyeglasses just to make sure. Paul Owen stops by our table on his way out. Reeves and Hamlin and I shake their hands without standing up. Owen turns his attention my way, which makes me slightly nervous. Before they leave, Denton looks over at our table, at me, one last time, and he seems panicked, convinced of something by my presence, as if he recognized me from somewhere, and this, in turn, freaks me out.

Total hardbody. What if they have a good personality? Survival of the species, right? He was an interesting guy. All of them. One part of me wants to take her out and talk to her and be real nice and sweet and treat her right. Hamlin and Reeves look at each other and then back at me before I start laughing, and then the two of them uneasily join in. Deck Chairs Courtney Lawrence invites me out to dinner on Monday night and the invitation seems vaguely sexual so I accept, but part of the catch is that we have to endure dinner with two Camden graduates, Scott and Anne Smiley, at a new restaurant they chose on Columbus called Deck Chairs, a place I had my secretary research so thoroughly that she presented me with three alternative menus of what I should order before I left the office today.

Or have a Diet Coke. Some caffeine might get you out of this slump. Courtney is wearing a wool jacket and vest, a wool jersey T-shirt and wool gabardine pants by Bill Blass, crystal, enamel and gold-plated earrings by Gerard E. I am wearing a custom-made tweed jacket, pants and a cotton shirt from the Alan Flusser shop and a silk tie by Paul Stuart.

There was a twenty-minute wait at the Stairmaster machine at my health club this morning. I wave to a beggar on the corner of Forty-ninth and Eighth, then give him the finger. She needs more makeup, the Ralph Lauren tweed outfit is too severe. No baby vegetables? Scallops in burritos? Wasabi crackers? Am I on the right track? And by the way, did anyone ever tell you that you look exactly like Garfield but run over and skinned and then someone threw an ugly Ferragamo sweater over you before they rushed you to the vet?

Olive oil on Brie? For an appetizer I ordered radicchio with some kind of free-range squid. Anne and Scott both had the monkfish ragout with violets. Our waitress is a little hardbody who is wearing gold faux-pearl tasseled lizard sling-back pumps. I forgot to return my videotapes to the store tonight and I curse myself silently while Scott orders two large bottles of San Pellegrino.

A waiter, though not the hardbody, strides over to take another drink order. Courtney orders a champagne on the rocks, which secretly appalls me. Do I really want a chardonnay? We can eat the redfish with a cabernet.

The waiter smiles, confused. The Acacia. Who knows why? And who fucking cares? I know how much you like the Acacia. It has a cleaner taste. It mixes better with rum and has a lower sodium content. The new Stephen Bishop came out last Tuesday and at Tower Records yesterday I bought the compact disc, the cassette and the album because I wanted to own all three formats.

Courtney reaches over and touches my wrist gently, stroking my Rolex. It really is. He really does. An Onica? I give her a sharp look and try not to hiss. It warns: Kick me again and no pussy, do you understand? I hold my breath, my face tight with tension.

I exhale. Anne answers for Courtney. I own one. That shuts him up for a minute. Looking for an Advil? I hear you. I watch as my cock moves in then out then into her vagina with long fast strokes. Get off me. I moan. She hunches back against the headboard and my dick slides out. What did you say? Is it a sorbet? Is your lithium really a sorbet? So it can catch the force of the ejaculate! You dumb bitch? Are you happy, you dumb bitch? Jean is wearing a red stretch-silk jacket, a crocheted rayon-ribbon skirt, red suede pumps with satin bows by Susan Bennis Warren Edwards and gold-plated earrings by Robert Lee Morris.

She stands there, in front of me, oblivious to my pain, a file in her hand. After pretending to ignore her for close to a minute, I finally lower my sunglasses and clear my throat. Something else? Grouchy today.

I am Mr. They want to meet you at Fluties at six. My complexion is still excellent. Three drops of Visine clear the eyes. An ice pack tightens the skin. All it comes down to is: I feel like shit but look great. What shapes was it cut into? Was it heated?

Goat cheese? Were there flowers or cilantro in it? Were they sashimi scallops? In a ceviche of sorts? Two bottles. Janet Leigh was from Phoenix.

Sean p be like me decaf zip torrent myslovitz torrent


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Sean P - Be Like me (Decaf, Bass boost)

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Sean P Ft. New hit single from Sean Paul of the platinum selling group Youngbloodz. Featuring LiveSosa and produced by Zone Beatz. Searches related to Be like me sean p. No copyright intended, no money is made off this video; all credit goes to the original owners. It would be appreciated if you could support me on Patreon www. Without clipping :D Download page: www. I don't own this song or the background used. I don't intend to make any profit.

I am here just for enjoyment. Killing them! You don't like my rem, you ain't feeling them I go home to tie my shoes and come back else as. Picking, I I hide boy in a Chev van with big guap boy Side way, been in the corner with no tough bay I'm hurting them, man I got the whole Louis shaking No Told you.

Beating, got the whole neighborhood shaking Them hoe be like, "what's happening? I'm hurting them, man I got the whole world to be I snap and stir the wheel, make the whole car As I count my ease in the back of the G My young niggas, my young niggas They say they wanna be like me They say they wanna ball like me I'm blowing up! Upcoming Concerts. Powered by. Be Like Me feat. Live Sosa Sean P East. Fall-N-Apart feat. Sidewayz feat.

Passport feat. PTSD feat. Trappdale Sean P East. Chevy feat. Countin' Hunnits feat. Ben Frank Jr. Sean P East. Money Man. Gorilla Zoe. Grown Man. Youngbloodz Feat. Shawty Putt.

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