What the Press say:

Half skeleton, half Mr. Johnston, Percy Rees Johnson used to be a brilliant graveyard jockey before he changed. He realised something about the world that nobody else knew. And so his flesh was stripped of him, and he spent the rest of his days scouring scrap heaps in search of old friends.

Lathered up at the Arc de Troimphe, stroked sensuously atop the Eiffel Tower, kissed all the way up the Champs-Élysées – Parisian soft porn.

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