Kramer
An American Pyscho
In a world of pressed collars and polished surfaces, Kramer begins as the image of control—immaculate, focused, dangerously composed. He wears his professional self like armor: a man built on routine, performance, and suppression. But beneath the calm exterior, something fractures.
As night unfolds, so does Kramer. With each layer removed, his grip loosens—first on the day, then on himself.
The armor comes undone, and with it, the voice of reason dims. The shirt slips off, and the lines between who he is and what he hides begin to blur. By the time he’s bare, he’s no longer one man, but two—one watching, the other unraveling.
As morning arrives, he scrubs—not just sweat, but the madness. But it clings. And when the water stops, only the exhaustion remains.