Whoever said it never rained in California never sat through a mountain thunderstorm. This is like that TV show where they find a woman in the desert and she’s god-damned drowned only it turns out she’d been washed off the mountain except it’s me stuck up here on this God-forsaken piece of rock. And I haven’t been washed off, but here I am cold, and wet. And I can’t get stupid cell phone reception. It isn’t that the rain’s killed the cellphone. It’s still glowing and shit. But I can’t get a freaking signal. And there goes the sunset. Great. Now it’s getting dark. Okay. Never climb alone. I have learned my lesson. At least I’m not lost. I know where I am. I can call the Park Service and tell them and they can send out someone with a light and get me off this god damn mountain. Or sit tight and wait for light? Screw it. Teeth are chattering already. If I sit on this mountain all night, I’ll die of hypothermia. Die because I can’t get freaking cell phone reception. “CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW!!!!” Now, ow, ow, ow! OK, that was depressing. Jesus, it’s getting dark fast. OK, there’s a ledge, just up a couple of feet. Christ, it’s not like I’m on freaking EVEREST, I know I’m in my coverage area. Called Mom last time I was up here, didn’t I? And took a picture with the phone, even. Must just be in a dead spot. If I can just get a few feet higher, bet I could get some bars. Hey—unh! Shit. Leaning out and grabbing on, rock climbing by freaking Braille. It’ll make a good story, though. Hell of a thing to tell the guys over a beer. OK, not a beer. Beer’s cold. Fingers feel numb. Tell it over Irish coffee, then. Billy with the Darwin Award jokes, of course. You know he’ll start calling me Darwin. “Hey, Darwin, get me a beer!” Jesus, I wish I could see my god damn hands, make sure what I was holding on to with my fingers so numb. Christ it’s getting dark. Almost there. Just reach—
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