Tibetan Psycho

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This week has been a bad week, the Chinese have a national holiday now. I am wearing Iguana walking trousers with zippered pockets, Kangol black suede shoes with spattered red soil of Emei Shan and a red hoody with some non-descript stains that the Chinese laundry failed to remove, I must remember to go down there and get them to do it again. But I have a lunch appointment with Laura at midday and have to go get the tickets for this evenings’ night bus to Shangri-La.

On the way down Litang main road are plenty of bums around begging incomprehensively. One even grabs my arm, a monk no less wearing red and orange robes with a peaked orange cap, unbranded of course and a pair of sneakers from Reebok. He does however have a rather fancy Swatch which I can only imagine was the cause of begging a foreigner until he broke down. Either way I didn’t feel like giving him anything while he was tugging me away into the oncoming tuk tuk, let alone when he had such accessories. I remove his hand which has an impressively tight grip. I also quietly admire my great skin tone, this guy looks like he has had been tanning before he could walk, the contrast against my unworked look is great. It makes me feel a little better, although I am wondering where the hell did he actually pick up that watch?

At lunch, a little flushed with my run in with the monk, I pop a full gram of MSG into my soup. My head doesn’t feel it after months in China. I sigh and look up. Laura, my hardbody girlfriend is speaking about heading to Yunnan and the benefits of a high fruit diet. She is wearing a blue Quechua fleece with matching Quechua walking boots and beige Iguana walking trousers. I am pushing a solitary chuck of some non-descript green vegetable around in my bowl of rice. I wonder if you eat a vegetable cooked in its own weight of oil it holds its nutritional value. Laura says “Did you get the tickets?”, I reply “Of course”, shit, shit, the reservation. I hope she hasn’t sensed my direct lie. “I got them earlier for 8 at Bus Station”. “Good because I am not going anywhere without a reservation!” Indeed you are not leaving. I tell her that I have to leave to pack early and ask the waiter for the bill. He rattles off something incomprehensible as I explain that I want to pay with my card. Seemingly he doesn’t accept it, luckily I went to the automated teller before I came here and place a crisp new red 100 yuan note in his palm and make my exit.

I´m screaming like a banshee as I cross the road in front of a fleet of motorbikes and a trunk honking at me. I jump into a store and buy a snickers, a can of flat red bull and three nestle wafer bars. I’m sickened that it costs me less than the kilo of apples that Laura made me buy yesterday. Running out shouting some inane like “Chocolate releases endorphins!” ...

It’s 7.00 and I still haven’t made a reservation. I called from the hotel, the bus is full. I am considering my options. I could book tickets for tomorrow night and then when we arrive at the station I can shout, loudly, and maybe they’ll chuck a couple of the locals off or I could not go to the station and sit in the lounge bar of the hotel with the owner, hoping that Laura realises later rather than sooner that I am not coming.

Laura storms into the room, I´m drinking Tsingtao beer and a Baijoo with ice. She is in some sort of rage about something. I have already booked the tickets and confirmed our dinner plans in the adjoining restaurant. I demand that she relaxes and order her a drink. She calms and apologises when she realises that we planned to leave tomorrow not today. I think she might still be a little suspicious!

I wake up in the middle of the night, I am only wearing my Kirgizstan boxer shorts. I admire my bright white reflection in the mirror. I spend a good two hours yesterday morning avoiding the midday sunlight and again spent absolutely no time out during the day today. Recently it has become my greatest obsession.

The wall is splattered with blood, my victims from the other night, Laura hasn’t even noticed them. I found them just outside and they needed little persuasion to come in for a night with me. They were naked darting around the room, buzzing with excitement. I struck one right on the head blood goes everywhere as I missed somewhat and took out the body. The others were spinning round looking for the exit, but it was too late with two decisive blows they also found themselves flung against the wall. Blood is all over my hands. I think if they deserved it but it’s too late now anyway and I enjoyed it. One of them I found out the next day was still alive, I rip its legs off and then its wings before crushing what remained with my Lonely Planet, 2009 edition. Why don't mosquitoes get a real existance.

Altered and Abridged version of ‘American Psycho’ by Bret Easton Ellis

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Comments

[anonymous]

very nice. Am now a world champion, will email. been so hungover all this week

[His Dudeness]

The question is does Laura know about the prophecy? Does she indeed realize the life of infidelity that has been predicted for you?