If you're going to write the same old shit, the least you could do is write with some flare. But no. Not here. Haylen Beck goes through the motions, traveling a road of cliches and uninspired prose into a congested horizon filled to bursting with mediocre writers.
In the first six percent this book has someone daydreaming while driving, only to come back to reality mere seconds before running headfirst into a semi coming the other direction. And someone's *coughtheauthorcough* read Uncle Stevie's DESPERATION. Collie Entragian called. He wants his bag of weed back. Tak!
File this under: Life's too short to read the same book with a different title.