It's 1986, and what should have been the greatest summer of Nate Bradford's life goes sour when his parents suddenly divorce. Now, instead of spending his senior year in his hometown of Austin, Texas, he's living with his father in Warren, Wyoming, population 2,833 (and Nate thinks that might be a generous estimate). There's no swimming pool, no tennis team, no mall--not even any MTV. The entire school's smaller than his graduating class back home, and in a town where the top teen pastimes are sex and drugs, Nate just doesn't fit in. Then Nate meets Cody Lawrence. Cody's dirt-poor, from a broken family, and definitely lives on the wrong side of the tracks. Nate's dad says Cody's bad news. The other kids say he's trash. But Nate knows Cody's a good kid who's been dealt a lousy hand. In fact, he's beginning to think his feelings for Cody go beyond friendship. Admitting he might be gay is hard enough, but between small-town prejudices and the growing AIDS epidemic dominating the headlines, a town like Warren, Wyoming, is no place for two young men to fall in love.

Poetry. Women's Studies. California Studies. TRAILER TRASH is a book about the cotton-country of Riverside County, Southern California, in the 1980s/90s. A book about poverty, ravaged landscape, and gender, it touches on a fuller, dustier California than Hollywood would have you believe. It is not only a book of class and struggle, it is also a book of triumph, beauty, and constructed worlds. It interfaces with grief and sanctuary in equal measure, creating a deeper understanding of origin stories. Never be ashamed of where you come from, these poems say, even when where you come from is broken, and dry, and made of tin.

Discover the world of abandoned and derelict trailers as photographed by Bob Moore. Each page is a nostalgic treasure with old advertising, mementoes, and photos of the once proud homes of those who may have had a touch of the gypsy in their soul. Profusely illustrated, Trailer Trash is a must have for anyone who ever looked longingly at one of these steel or aluminum homes on wheels during the 1940s or 1950s.

Trailer-park owners never use the word "trailer" and certainly not the term "trailer park." At some point in time, even the Mobile Home Park Owners Association (MHPOA for short) realized that the word "trailer" had a negative connotation. When was the last time you saw a "trailer park community" advertised on TV? "Trailer park" has come to represent, in the minds of most Americans, men in stained work shirts dotted with drippings of food fat and car excrement returning home to take out life's shortcomings on the innocents in their lives--the ol' lady, the dog, and the coffee table. This image--which, I can tell you, is a partially true cliche in our society--vaguely explains why my parents and my grandparents decided to rent to tenants without children or pets. Well, birds and rodents were deemed acceptable but not guinea pigs. Guinea pigs, due to size and temperament, were completely unacceptable. My name is Angie Cavallari, and this is my story about growing up as an '80s child in the shitty, impoverished, modern-age ghettos known as trailer parks.

God Loves Trailer Trash is about God's grace, mercy, forgiveness, and love for all people that believe in Jesus regardless of what society thinks of them. For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not parish but have eternal life. (John 3:16) It doesn't say only those in country clubs or live in gated communities but anyone who believes in him. So so-called trailer trash are just as treasured as those people, maybe more.