It's a couple miles walk to the foot of the mountain, but it's not like either of us has anything better to do with our day. Well, except for fishing, granted, but that's been ruled out for both the present and the future, presumably. Who could've predicted that sitting around waiting for something to bite would be, quite possibly, the most boring activity known to man? Then again, I spend a lot of my time pushing paperwork around on a desk. I'm not sure fishing actually beats that in levels of sheer tedium, but it definitely comes close.

Either way, I use the walk to MacGyver a belay device with some re-purposed parts of my fishing rod that I grabbed before leaving and a pair of pliers I keep in a little portable toolkit, only half paying attention to Tony's chatter, though I manage to keep up with the quips. I've always been a good multitasker, I will say that on my behalf. By the time we reach the foot of the mountain, I look like a character on Lost, the incomparable combination of humidity and my own sweat making my clothes cling to my skin in a way that isn't all together pleasant. After pulling out my web-shooters, I drop my bag at my feet to free up my hands, then tug off my shirt, rolling it up into a ball to put it away. No one lives anywhere near here. I'm not especially worried about being caught with my webs out, if you catch my drift.

"It's not exactly Everest, but it'll do, right?"