Chris Johnson

Our once beautiful homeland had become uninhabitable. Too dangerous to walk the streets, drive a car, visit friends. Many had already left Syria. Risking their lives on the open water. Giving all we had to the ruthless, opportunists who trade in the currency of human misery. We all spent what little money we had to reach anywhere, a safe place, a new life away from the bloodshed, the bombing, the murder. Europe was meant to offer us hope. Yet the borders closed one by one. We gave up everything, left all we had behind. Living on hand outs, with no shelter, no money and now no hope. I am here, trapped in Calais Jungle. I don’t know where my wife is. The police treat us like animals. They beat us and spray us with teargas everyday. We cannot move forward, we cannot go back. We have to get out of here. I look into the eyes on this camp and I can see it; The blank emptiness of desperation. In another life I was a teacher. Now I’m a refugee. My name is Adnan.

Jasper Rawlins, a none-too-successful musician, finds himself chatting with a beautiful woman at his neighborhood bar. She goes home with him, direct and frank in answer to his nervousness. During the night, someone breaks into his flat and cuts her throat. He runs into the arms of the police, who dismiss his story, but release him while they search for the weapon. He investigates the crime, and over the next few days, meets a knowing pornographer, hit men, and other schemers. As dead bodies pile up wherever he goes, the police are soon looking for him with guns drawn. As he discovers secrets about a shadowy corporation, the police close in. Can he find someone to trust?

A New Jersey college student running away from home finds himself travelling through the back roads of Texas with a con man who's just escaped from prison.