Despite being eager to make haste towards Trifle City and that great beam of crumpet blazing wantonly in the night sky above it, Crumpet-Hands Man was courteous enough to remain beside the thrice-mangled Preface until an ambulance arrived; when the police arrived sometime thereafter (unmangled) our hero was both more-courteous and extra-concise in providing a statement – from origami.

  “Thanks,” the policeman scrunched, tossing said statement (a lily minus a few petals...or it might've been a horse?) into a nearby woodchipper. “But all the same!” the policeman yelled above the chipper's gnawing grind, “good job on apprehending Preface, Crumpet-Hands Man! We've been after him for quite some time; he's a two-faced no-faced little so and so, almost impossible to catch due to his lack of aforementioned face. All to no avail we've been tacking his mugshot to lampposts all across the city for weeks now.”

  “So that's what all those blank sheets of paper were,” our hero now understood. Kinda. He assumed it was a brilliant witticism...

  Banter not being Crumpet-Hands Man's greatest strength, for the longest time the hero and the policeman stood staring blankly at one another. A bus driven by a baby swerved past. Then:

  “What happened to your thumb, Mr. Hands?” the policeman eventually asked.

  “Blast!” our hero blasted.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “I see,” the policeman didn't.

  “Don't worry, this wee thumb of mine'll grow back,” our hero assured, giving a wee thumbs up as confirmation. The policeman returned the gesture in acknowledgement (he weed himself.) Preface gave a squeaky siren-like wail as the slamming of the ambulance's doors quad-mangled his head. (Narrowly avoiding similar injury for the second time that night, our hero had only just removed his own head from between the doors in time. Just.)

  “I won't delay you any longer, Mr. Hands,” the policeman said appreciatively to our hero. (Over much wailing, gnawing, slamming, etc.) “Judging by that big ol' crumpet up there in the sky I assume you've a friend in need?”

  “I have many friends, but none of them reside in Need,” Crumpet-Hands Man was certain, although the befuddled look on his witticisms would blah blah blah. “Where is Need? Sounds Cornish?”

  “Like the pasties?”

  Our hero frowned, sucked in his tummy. “I've put on a little weight, I'll admit–”

  “I'll agree.”

  “Then I'll be off,” our fat-shamed butter-basted hero skidded into the night. Cornish settlements aside, however, he did indeed have a friend in need – and one most likely in peril!

  But since Peril was more than a four-hour skid away on account of it being in rural Greece (probably), a locale better suited for Pita-Palms Girl, our hero instead skidded for his beloved Trifle City. “I hope I'm not too late,” he fretted.

  (He wasn't. He was Crumpet-Hands Man, as the name on his crumpet-donation card and the title of this introductory preface both confirm-ed.)

  And so our hero's introductory preface comes to an end! Next time: the adventure truly begins! Bringing with it questions:

  Will Preface seek his revenge and make a dreadful return in a later adventure?

  Who in Trifle City requires our hero's assistance?

  And will Crumpet-Hands Man's crumpet hand heal in time?

  (Answers down below)

  Tune in (or read in?..) next time to find out!

  (Answers: No. That would spoil it. Yes; this has already been established.)