Technicolor Pulp

With a pocket full of borrowed money and a head full of rain, Jimi sits in a pub in London, where he has traveled for no reason except that London isn’t Boston, or Manhattan, or the college where Jimi wasted four years, or the brick alleyways where he’s puked and made love and crawled and laughed at the night.

Jimi Banks is 23: went to school as a hockey player and now just skates: diseased and innocent, criminal and pure. His summer love that started on a posh island crashed on the dusty mainland. And his best friend is dead.

From London in a cloud of hashish and tobacco, booze and beer…to Paris to stay with the daughter of a banker who wants to be a patron of the arts…back to London, broke again, where a man named Rosie declares his undying love and it’s all right with Jimi if it just comes with a meal….Jimi Banks is dodging shadows. There’s his friend, Ray, who hung himself in a gorge outside Aspen; his family who won’t return his phone calls anymore; and the vast quantities of booze he has to drink to call them.

Out of money, out of favors, Jimi is just not out of places to run.