American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis — Read

"I thought the pinto beans with salmon and mint were really, really... you know," Elizabeth says, walking into the living room of my apartment and in one graceful movement kicking off both satin and suede Maud Frizon pumps and flopping onto the couch, "good, but Patrick, my god it was expensive and," then, bristling, she bitches, "it was only pseudo nouvelle."

"Was it my imagination or were there goldfish on the tables? " I ask, undoing my Brooks Brothers suspenders while searching the refrigerator for a bottle of sauvignon blanc. "Anyway, I thought it was hip."