Way out West there was this fella — fella I wanna tell ya about. Fella by the name of Q. At least that was the handle his loving parents gave him, but he never had much use for it himself. Q, he called himself Q. Now, Q— he didn’t make a whole lot of sense. And a lot about where he lived, likewise.

But then again, maybe that’s why I found the place so darned interestin’. They call London The Rat’s Nest on the Thames. I didn’t find it to be that, exactly. But I’ll allow there are some rats there. ‘Course I can’t say I’ve seen London, and I ain’t never been to France. And I ain’t never seen no queen in her damned undies, so the feller says. But I’ll tell you what — after seeing London, and this here story I’m about to unfold, well, I guess I seen somethin’ every bit as stupefyin’ as you’d see in any of them other places. And mostly in English, too. So I can die with a smile on my face, without feelin’ like the good Lord gypped me.

Sometimes there’s a man — I won’t say a hero, ’cause, what’s a hero? But sometimes, there’s a man. And I’m talkin’ about Q. Sometimes, there’s a man, well, he’s the man for his time and place. He fits right in there. And that’s Q, in London. And even if he is a lazy man — and the Q was most certainly that. Quite possibly the most lazy man in London, which would place it high in the runnin’ for being laziest worldwide. But sometimes there’s a man, sometimes, there’s a man. Aw. I lost my train of thought here. But — aw, hell; I’ve done introduced him enough.