Excerpt of PLEASE LET ME DESTROY YOU by Rupert Taylor   One afternoon I was sitting at the bar swirling ice in my glass, when I saw a long fake eyelash lying in the grit on the tiled floor. I picked it up, and when I stood up, a young woman pointed a DSLR camera at my face. She wore white sneakers, cut-off denim shorts, and a Hawaiian shirt with lobsters printed on it. A solid outfit. 10/10. I had seen her in the bar before, but she never asked me to play pool, or to go upstairs. Most days she sat alone at the bar, sipping orange juice and watching what looked to be YouTube tutorials on her phone. Click. Click click click. She shot me holding the eyelash in front of my right eye. “Hang!” yelled Blossom, pointing her nail file like a sword. “No photos down here! I told you!”   Hang took her camera up the stairs. I hung back for a second, then trotted up after her. Smile Bar was situated in a tall narrow building, with a wooden staircase zig-zagging up the middle. On the first floor landing, a young woman lay sleeping, her…