There are many ways to kick a dead horse, but this is one of the few that I've seen that kick someone who was dead on horse. I am still trying to understand why the author thought now was the time to tell this story. Sid Vicious, punk rocker, alleged bass player, heroin addict and suspected murderer, died three decades ago. His style of "music" is barely even heard nowadays, having morphed into more commercial fare (outside of a stalwart few who still know what punk rock really was). This story paints a petulant picture of Sid Vicious. Here is a twisted Peter Pan, a boy who never grew up, never tried to actually work for anything, and was more concerned with casual sex and heroin than anything else. Throughout most of this story, the author apparently misinterprets that childishness as being deep and aloof.The author seems to believe that a one-night stand with a once-popular, drug-addicted rock star rates an entire whole book. It might've back right after he died, but now? Meh. The tale is drawn out and uselessly detailed, and every one paints a more unflattering picture of both Vicious and the author. Her eternal fawning over this broken-down, talentless hack is quaint at first, but after such obsessive detail over things such as meals, and very little given to the music this group produced, you're left lacking. About the only thing we learn in this book is that Sid Vicious had few standards in choosing his sexual partners, and that the author had a severe lack of standards in both sleeping with, and moping over, a drug addict.