By Mike Cox. You ever feel like the creators of culture way overestimate consumer interest in a given case or perpetrator? Because I feel like the amount of Henry Lee Lucas content is out of proportion to the demand. ...Which is why I'm selling you this paperback? Hee. This one is right down the fairway of its microgenre, i.e., plays up the horrors Lucas may have committed and doesn't address the idea that he made up a lot of stories.
The paperback itself is in predictably un-great condition: edgewear, some of it almost looking gnawed; cracked spine (but reinforced with library tape), toned pages with some foxing to the insides of the covers, foreseeably anodyne photos. Sits pretty straight, perfectly readable.