[Heavy tympani thunders over slow, upright bass] Jeremy Johnson roves the desolate prairies of Omaha, fingers blistered from his battered guitar. Whiskey, coffee, and pistachios on his breath. His past; a confounding if not arousing blur of theatrical plays, poems, and novels. His T-shirt company, Flee Bag Tees, clothes weird and weary. His playful novel Constantine Johnson: Pet Exorcist delights the macabre-minded. And his upcoming novel, Vida: An Erotica Sci-Fi Manifesto… well, hopefully it doesn’t get him killed.
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