Unfortunately, the magic that keeps the world's seasonal goodwill working is in his blood. Which is running out.
The solution isn't corporate or spiritual; it's carnal.
He has to find the one woman in eight billion who can take his loaded payload, repeatedly and in sufficient quantity, so the line will live again. Finding her means going through a gauntlet.
Perfect strangers, ex-girlfriends, and all kinds of situations that leave him tired, pissed off, and much closer to dying than he wants to admit.
Every failed fuck is another twist of the hangman's wrench; the world gets colder and meaner, and if he doesn't plant his legacy soon, the lights go out for everybody.
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