Product Description

Travis is back from college for the summer, and he's just starting to settle in to the usual pattern at home: drinking, drugging, watching porn, and hooking up.

But Travis isn't settling in like he used to; something isn't right. Maybe it's that deadly debauch in Hawaii, the memories of which Travis can't quite shake. Maybe it's Laura, Travis's ex, who reappears on the scene after a messy breakup and seems to want to get together -- or not. Or maybe it's his suddenly sensing how empty and messed up his life is, and wanting out.

But once you're at the party, it's tough to leave...

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #33522 in Books
• Published on: 2007-05-22
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 464 pages

Features

• ISBN13: 9781416917489
• Condition: NEW
• Notes: Brand New from Publisher. No Remainder Mark.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
"You look kinda weird, man."

How's that?

"You almost don't look like the same Travis," Chris tells me after picking up a small mirror with two lines of blow on it.

I take the mirror from his hands. Set it down on the coffee table in front of me, right next to an issue of VICE magazine -- the drugs issue -- and even though I actually think I know what Chris meant by that, I still ask him:

What's that supposed to mean, dude?

Chris swings his bloodshot, pitch-black-circled eyes over to his roommate and childhood friend of mine, Kyle, then quickly back to me, and says, "You've totally lost your edge, man." He sniffs. Swipes his nose. "Your face looks all worn out and sunken in. You look out of shape. You're pale. Pale, Trav. You've been in the fucking desert for a year and you look pale, man. Unbelievable. I mean, I remember when you came back to the city during Christmas break and you came over here one time in the middle of the night in a fucking limousine, wearing a pair of shades with like three scarves hanging off your neck, a bottle of champagne in your hands, totally name-dropping a couple of the dudes from the Brian Jonestown Massacre that you and Laura were hanging out with after a show. And now look at you, man. You walked off the airplane an hour ago with your shoulders bunched up, looking all timid and shit while you were waiting for your luggage at the bag claim. And no sunglasses. It's June and you weren't wearing any sunglasses. Your swagger's gone. That's what I mean, man," he finishes, before dipping two of his fingers in a glass of water and sliding them up his nose real fast.

"Come on, Chris," Kyle says. "Don't be a dick. You should be happy because our rad friend is back from Arizona. I am."

Thanks, man, I say.

Chris rolls his eyes.

Jamming a blue straw that's been cut in half up my right nostril, I snort --

Once.

Twice.

Breathe.

My eyes start watering.

I go, Do you guys ever feel like you're locked inside a car that's moving really fast?

"What kinda car?" Chris asks.

Like a fucking red Monte Carlo with a black racing stripe cutting through the middle of it, and there's some superintense Fantômas shit jolting from the car speakers, like Mike Patton and Buzz Osbourne just completely losing it, but no steering wheel. The car doesn't have one. And the car is so out of control, right? It's swerving all over the road, and you're crying, pounding your fists against the window trying to jump out of it, trying to bail from it, and then all of these people start popping up on the road, like your parents and your sister and your friends, and the car is playing human dodgeball with them. It's trying not to run anyone over, but it's not slowing down, either, and then some junkie babe pops up in the middle of the road and the car destroys her, leaving her mangled body in its burnt rubber path, and then it keeps on going and going even though it can't maintain anything close to the same speed.

Pause.

You two ever feel anything like that?

"I'm a fucking coke dealer," Kyle says. "All I do is run over junkies. Night after night, again and again."

And Chris goes, "Nah. I never feel like that. But if I was in that car, instead of Fantômas blasting, I think I'd be listening to early Faith No More, the Chuck Mosley days. That shit would really blow your mind during a human dodgeball game."

"You think you'd have a choice?" Kyle snorts. "The car he's talking about doesn't even have a steering wheel, so no way that you'd be able to pick out the music. No way, man."

"I'm just saying," Chris snorts right back. "Early Faith No More would be the better choice to listen to in that particular situation. Don't you think, Trav?"

Maybe.

I lean forward. Wipe a thin line of coke residue off the mirror with my thumb and rub it back and forth against my gums a bunch of times until my mouth goes numb. Then I light a cigarette.

"You gonna be all right?" Chris asks me. "You look like your heart's just been ripped from your chest."

Plugging my nostrils with my other hand, I snap my head back and sniff superhard.

I think I'll be okay.

I look at the clock that hangs crooked on the dirty white wall in front of me, just above this black and white poster of PJ Harvey sitting on a bar stool, legs spread, panties showing. It's five o'clock.

Shit.

"What's up?" asks Kyle.

I gotta meet my parents for dinner soon. Like in an hour.

Chris starts laughing.

The three of us are watching this new Queens of the Stone Age DVD, and when I see Kyle get out of the blue reclining chair he stole from a nursing home recreation room last summer, I say, Yo, Kyle. Will you grab me something to drink?

"What do you want?" he asks.

Water.

And Kyle says, "No problem, dude."

Then he walks back into the living room a few moments later in his blue Dickie pants, his white Death from Above T-shirt, his left arm sleeved, his black hair butched with two thin lines shaved into each side of his head, and hands me a warm glass of water.

I take a drink and light another cigarette and look hard at Chris, who's wearing a pair of dark blue Levi's, a plain black T-shirt, and a pair of Vision Wear high-tops, and I ask him when the last time he slept was.

"This morning. What about you?"

On the plane ride here.

Kyle goes, "What happened to your car? What happened to all the shit you took with you to Arizona?"

I shrug.

Sold most of it. Fucked my car up like two nights after I got back to school from Hawaii.

Both of them smile and then I start asking them about what's been going on since I left....

Not much.

What's new...?

Not much.

I ask about everyone I can think of.

Cliff: Livin' with his dad. Being a loser. Fuckin Natalie Taylor.

Michael: Gettin' wasted. Destroying meatpits. Lurking on Kennedy Street.

Claire: Being totally hot.

I swallow a huge glob of spit.

Laura...

Silence.

Laura...

Silence.

Laura...

Nothing.

Chris starts blushing. He rubs his eyes. Shakes his head slowly from side to side.

Laura...

"I don't know," Kyle finally jumps in. "I don't see her that much anymore. She pretty much hangs out with different people now. But the last time I saw her at the Glass Castle, she was still looking good, man. She still had that whole Kate Bosworth thing going for her."

It's not a thing, I say. She really looks like that Bosworth chick. Maybe it's Kate Bosworth who has that whole Laura Kennedy thing going for her.

"Come on, Trav," Chris grunts. "Get real. Why do you even care what she's up to? She probably hates you."

I just wanted to know, Chris. What the fuck.

"What happened to you, anyway?" Kyle asks. "You came back for Christmas, flew to Hawaii, went back to Arizona, and cut everyone off."

Things got, ya know, complicated.

And Chris goes, "Things have always been complicated with you, Trav."

Did I do something to you, Chris? Cause you're being a total dick to me right now.

Chris shoots a look at Kyle, and Kyle goes, "You pretty much are, man."

Facing me again, Chris goes, "No, Trav. You didn't do anything. You just look different and talk different."

Pause.

He lights a cigarette. "It's making me a little nervous."

Well, your jaw's sliding around all crazy cause you're tweaking so hard and that's kinda freaking me out.

"I know it is," Chris says back. "It's been doing that every time I get high lately. I should probably chew gum when I do this shit."

Probably.

Kyle dumps some more coke onto the mirror.

Last night I called him and I asked him if he'd pick me up from the airport this afternoon but to not tell anyone that he was, which he didn't. Except for Chris.

And he went, "You're coming back? Do your parents know?"

Yeah. But they already have plans and can't pick me up. My dad sounded pretty pissed off.

"But I thought you wanted to stay out there for the summer," he said. "Maybe even do some traveling."

I need to come back, man.

"Why?" he wanted to know.

And I told him:

Kyle, just pick me up.

He cuts two more lines then he hands me the mirror.

One.

Two.

Goddamn this is some good shit.

Breathe.

And I'm really back.

£ £ £

The restaurant I'm meeting my parents at is called the Red Tie. I'm already a half hour late when Kyle drops me off at the front doors in his '91 Toyota Camry. He pops the trunk, and he, Chris, and I get out of the car, the Bronx album White Drugs blasting from the car stereo speakers, and we pull out all the shit I brought home with me.

The two suitcases.

A garbage bag filled with DVDs and CDs.

Some posters.

"What are you gonna do when you're done eating?" Kyle asks me.

Go home.

"What about after that?"

I'm gonna take some Percocet and crash, baby.

"Nice," says Chris, and then I bump fists with both of them and get my things and walk through the tinted doors of the Red Tie. The hostess seems to know who I am right away. She says, "You're meeting the Lance Wayne party?" and I say, Yeah, and she says, "Travis, right?"

I nod.

"Would you like to leave your things up front? We can store them in the coat check room while you dine."

I hesitate.

Sure.

She motions at this guy, who promptly comes over and takes my things. When he begins to walk away, I shout that I know exactly how many DVDs and CDs are in the garbage bag.

"I'm sure you do, sir," he smirks, cocking his head at me. Then he continues walking.

I turn back to the hostess.

"Are you ready?" she asks.

I guess.

"Right this way then," she smiles, leading me through the main dining area, up a short flight of stairs, then through a set of doors labeled private.

She stops just short of a large table where my mother, father, and younger sister, Vanessa, are seated, and hands me a menu, and I tell her thank you before taking a seat across from my father, who's all swagged out in the blue Armani suit my mother and sister bought him for his birthday when we were in LA two years ago.

"Well you look like crap," my father immediately snorts. Twisting his wrist to look at his watch, my father, the big real estate GOD, the city's PERSON OF THE YEAR, he says, "But it's still nice that you could finally join us."...

Customer Reviews

awesome.
"Inhale. Exhale."
And the events of Travis Wayne's life unfold.

In Exit Here, Myers tell the story of Travis Wayne as he arrives home for the summer after his fist year away at college. Throughout the book, Travis struggles to come to terms with the truth and reality of his life and his future. Enough with my plot synopsis; read the book and find out what happens. Now, on to my opinion of the book:

First of all, this book is awesome. I don't know why you are sitting on your computer reading my review when you should be reading this book, but if you need more convincing I will go on. When I first got the book, I was a little wary of the length. I mean, how can a book with over 400 pages be fun and exciting. Well, in Exit Here something happens on every page. After the first few pages, I didn't want to put it down; so I wasn't astonished when I finished it in 2 days. This book is a true page-turner.

What makes the book so fun to read is all the pop-culture references. I can't remember the last time I laughed so much while reading a book; it was great! How can you not love a book that makes fun of a former member of NKOTB! AWESOME!!!

It is not all laughs either. Besides it being a hilarious story, it also tackles difficult issues of growing up and learning responsibility while facing sex, drug, and alcohol abuse. I think it is sometimes hard for a novel to both be funny and have a strong thematic message, but Myers is able to accomplish this beautifully. He so seamlessly creates a world in which all the characters exist. By the time I finished the book, I felt like I knew Travis and all his friends. It's weird because I felt like their lives continued even when the book ended. Myers is truly a talented writer in this aspect.

If you like reading good books, read Exit Here.

I Stayed Up All Night
I did. I stayed up all night to read this. I picked it up to 'start' it. Little did I know it would suck me in so fast. I won't give a report about Travis and his life or his love life or his low life friend/s. I will just say I loved this book. I was disturbed, educated, a little shocked in spots, moved, and did I mention sucked in? A really great read.

say what???
at first i thought, cool, nice title, immediately brings to mind that whole "less than zero" thing that i thought was so cool as a teenager back in the late '80s. then on reading the above excerpt, i realised that over 400 pages of bret ellis ripoff might be a bit hard to take...