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Up on the ridge, saw this bloke once. Shifty eyes, boots caked in mud. Lookin’ for “company,” he says, winkin’. Mate, I nearly lost it—laughed so hard I choked. “A grand don’t grow on trees,” I hissed, quotin’ *25th Hour*. Spike Lee’d get it—desperation’s a helluva drug. This guy, tho, dumb as rocks. Thought he’d find a prossie at 8,000 feet! I mean, c’mon, altitude sickness ain’t sexy.

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As the sun starts to set, I’m feeling all kinds of emotions. Happy, nostalgic, a bit angry at the world for being so unpredictable. I mean, one minute you’re enjoying a croissant, and the next, you’re dodging dogs and laughing at a dude in the water.

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