The funny, touching story of a sweet, wide-eyed son of Seventies Suburbia who spends a year as a teenage sex worker servicing rich, lonely women in Beverly Hills. A gripping story that explores what it means to suffer through the underbelly of the American Dream. And make it out alive.
The funny, touching story of a sweet, wide-eyed son of Seventies Suburbia who spends a year as a teenage sex worker servicing rich, lonely women in Beverly Hills. After being raped his first night in Hollywood, David meets Sunny, the manager of Hollywood Fried Chicken, who teaches him all about chicken: how to fry one, and how to be one.
But the wild adventures and the mad money are never enough, as he's sucked into the seedy seamy underside of Hollywood: the blank-eyed women, the Fall-of-Rome orgies, and the drugs. With a mix of breathtaking honesty, sly comedy, genuine tenderness, and a wide-eyed fascination for the characters and bizarre world he enters, Sterry creates a narrative that is fresh, smart, and unexpectedly uplifting.
Chicken is a book like no other--a playful, gripping story that explores what it means to suffer through the underbelly of the American Dream. And make it out alive.
The Tall Sexy Man & The Nun
'Children begin by loving their parents, after a time they judge them, rarely, if ever, do they forgive them.'
- Oscar Wilde
I wasn't molested as a child. No one beat me with a coathanger. I was never burned by my evil babysitter's cigarette. I grew up in neighborhoods where kids played ball, swang on swings, and rode merry-go-rounds. Santa slid down my chimney, the Easter Bunny hid chocolate eggs in my yard, and the Tooth Fairy left a quarter under my pillow.
A rosy patina of relentless suburban niceness shimmers on the surface of my childhood: roses swimming gently in beds, summery smelling freshly mown grass moaning, golden leaves falling like floating autumnal coins; the taste of cold waterymelon and the lick of a soft cloud of ice cream cone; toboggans and hot chocolate; Fourth of July fireworks and Tom Turkey Thanksgivings; Cream of Wheat mornings and Cat in the Hat nights.
You were happy where I grew up, and if ...
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The Kopp Sisters Return!
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