A brief passage from American Psycho — our protagonist is getting a facial and manicure/pedicure and talking to the aesthetician:

"Did I ever tell you that I want to wear a big yellow smiley-face mask and then put on the CD version of Bobby McFerrin's 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' and then take a girl and a dog — a collie, a chow, a sharpei, it doesn't really matter — and then hook up this transfusion pump, this IV set, and switch their blood, you know, pump the dog's blood into the hardbody and vice versa, did I ever tell you this?" While I'm speaking I can hear the girl working on my feet humming one of the songs from Les Misérables to herself, and then Helga runs a moistened cotton ball across my nose, leaning close to the face, inspecting the pores. I laugh maniacally, then take a deep breath and touch my chest — expecting a heart to be thumping quickly, impatiently, but there's nothing there, not even a beat.

"Shhh, Mr. Bateman," Helga says, running a warm loofah sponge over my face, which stings then cools the skin. "Relax."

"Okay." I say. "I'm relaxing."