I was without oxygen, and equally without beer. It was only a matter of time until it was all over. No doubt they would find me, sprawled amidst the rock and snow, feed cap semaphoring over the miles, flickering yellow and off, yellow and off.
If not for the backwash of the snowboarders’ leavings, I would be dead toady, there is little doubt of that.
“Grim though it may be, I was left with no option but to eat Frank, the best travelling companion and source of protein nature could provide.”
As the splendors of nature shimmered in my oxygen-starved brain, I turned to call my companions’ attention to the spectral vision. I was unprepared for the ocular effects the combination of unplucked avian and anaerobic cranial respiration would bring to their weirding countenance.
And then the phone went dead.