––––––––
I
Riley and I are feasting at Camp 2, partying in delirium with the devil, while Andrew lies unconscious in our tent.
“Andrew’s sleeping his way to the top!” I say to the Sherpas with a knee-slap. Or, the Sherpas say to me with a knee-slap. Or, perhaps the Sherpas have buggered off by this point. A lot is going on, the wind’s whipping us like a dominatrix, and I’m not exactly taking notes.
Between my teeth are some super-stringy neck veins, while Riley crunches down on a tasty thigh bone. After supper, we dance around the dead chap’s phone, which plays only ringtones, not that anybody complains, least of all its owner.
Yet. (There’s always a Yet.)
Despite the c*****e, I’m not sure if Riley is truly happy.
Recent life changes have cast doubt over our future together, bu
