Description

Sarah's not abnormal or ugly, just a little bit fat, and she's got cerebral palsy. "No way was it rape or even molestation... she's fourteen, not a child. I'm not a paedophile." Gemma's mother had shagged Tom Jones. Nobody knew who her father was, least of all her mother. Spiderman doesn't want to inflict his petty-thief persona on self contained Caitlin, but he finds himself getting off at her stop. When chickens that belong to 'Chelle's grand-dad start to peck each other, sounding like death warming up, she wrings one of their necks and ends up doing worse. Johnny Mental was sitting on his porch wearing sunglasses, drinking lager, his teeth orange and ugly. Someone was painting their front door a few yards away, with a portable radio playing soul music; Diana Ross or some shit. A big burgundy Vauxhall Cavalier came around the corner, real slow like an old man on a hill. Eleven wry and defiant stories on the power and beautiful transience of youth.

Fresh Apples

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£9.05

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Paperback / softback by Rachel Trezise

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Short Description:

Sarah's not abnormal or ugly, just a little bit fat, and she's got cerebral palsy. "No way was it rape... Read more

    Publisher: Parthian Books
    Publication Date: 30/11/2020
    ISBN13: 9781913640262, 978-1913640262
    ISBN10: 1913640264

    Number of Pages: 180

    Fiction , Contemporary Fiction

    Description

    Sarah's not abnormal or ugly, just a little bit fat, and she's got cerebral palsy. "No way was it rape or even molestation... she's fourteen, not a child. I'm not a paedophile." Gemma's mother had shagged Tom Jones. Nobody knew who her father was, least of all her mother. Spiderman doesn't want to inflict his petty-thief persona on self contained Caitlin, but he finds himself getting off at her stop. When chickens that belong to 'Chelle's grand-dad start to peck each other, sounding like death warming up, she wrings one of their necks and ends up doing worse. Johnny Mental was sitting on his porch wearing sunglasses, drinking lager, his teeth orange and ugly. Someone was painting their front door a few yards away, with a portable radio playing soul music; Diana Ross or some shit. A big burgundy Vauxhall Cavalier came around the corner, real slow like an old man on a hill. Eleven wry and defiant stories on the power and beautiful transience of youth.

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