"But then, when you've just come to the point when your reaction to the times is one of total and sheer acceptance, when your body has become somehow tuned into the insanity and you reach that point where it all makes sense, when it clicks, we get some crazy fucking homeless nigger who actually wants – listen to me, Bateman – wants to be out on the streets, this, those streets, see, those" – he points – "and we have a mayor who won't listen to her, a mayor who won't let the bitch have her way – Holy Christ – let the fucking bitch freeze to death, put her out of her own goddamn self-made misery, and look, you're back where you started, confused, fucked… Number twenty-four, nope, twenty-five… Who's going to be at Evelyn's? Wait, let me guess." He holds up a hand attached to an impeccable manicure. "Ashley, Courtney, Muldwyn, Marina, Charles – am I right so far? Maybe one of Evelyn's 'artiste' friends from ohmygod the 'East' Village. You know the type – the ones who ask Evelyn if she has a nice dry white chardonnay–" He slaps a hand over his forehead and shuts his eyes and now he mutters, jaw clenched, "I'm leaving. I'm dumping Meredith. She's essentially daring me to like her. I'm gone. Why did it take me so long to realize that she has all the personality of a goddamn game-show host?… Twenty-six, twenty-seven… I mean I tell her I'm sensitive. I told her I was freaked out by the Challenger accident – what more does she want? I'm ethical, tolerant, I mean I'm extremely satisfied with my life, I'm optimistic about the future – I mean, aren't you?"