Hillbilly Elegy

backyard. You can just imagine a well-
bred housewife watching out the
window in horror as her Kentucky-born
neighbor slaughtered squawking
chickens just a few feet away. My sister
and I still call the old mail carrier “the
chicken man,” and years later even a
mention of how the city government
ganged up on the chicken man could
inspire Mamaw’s trademark vitriol:
“Fucking zoning laws. They can kiss my
ruby-red asshole.”
The move to Middletown created
other problems, as well. In the mountain
homes of Jackson, privacy was more
theory than practice. Family, friends, and
neighbors would barge into your home