While you were upstairs trying on your wife’s underclothes and hats, Leon and Clive have been sucked separately through a spatio-temporal vortex. Leon finds himself for a while on the streets of Harlem in the late twentieth century. Here he fits in well, honing his basketball skills and listening to hip-hop – until, that is, the vortex opens again and he is rushed off to Regency England. Here Clive has been all along, and, after some successful speculation in cotton mills and coal mines, is now a wealthy man. On seeing Leon at the road-side, he reins in his galloping grey, bringing his spanking new two-wheeler to a screeching halt, and greets his old friend.
“And what do you think of my new carriage?” Clive asks.
“Pretty fly,” says Leon.
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