It turns out that the sweet-talking, tattoo-sportin' PJP, is a gypsy bareknuckled boxing champion...which makes 'em harder than a coffin nail.
Right now, that's the last thing on rex's mind.
If Pariah doesn't wake up in the next few minutes, rex knows he'll be buried with him. Why would the gypsies want to go to the trouble of explaining why a man died in their campsite, when they could just bury the pair and move camp? It's not like they got social security numbers, is it?
Rex...the tit...is praying. And if he isn't, he fucking should be...
