Zurich… Budapest… Odessa…

It was a long way to Nepal. I had plenty of time to think. I had a lot of questions and not many answers, and it was tearing me up inside.

Who the heck is Woodsy? What made Fox fall for a human dame? What’s he doing walking upright? When did he get his taxi licence?

Rostov…Volgograd…

Shelly! Married! Why did she do it? Why? Why? Didn’t the videos mean anything to her? Why? Why? Why?

I almost went back to the Schnapps, but I’d sworn a vow and my vow was my word and my word was my bond. So I stuck to boilermakers.

Mashhad… Kabul…

Just how many of the ESIs are really doppelgängers? Is Woodsy one? Is the Fourth Dwarf one? Is the Coyote one? Is the Chair one?

What if Shelly was a doppelgänger? Would I be able to tell? What if Sidney Crosby was one? Would I be able to tell? What if I was one? Would I be able to tell?

Delhi… Kathmandu…

Why can’t Pittsburgh score a goal? What’s the future of dating? What’s aqueous humour again? What the heck is a dirndl? And always, Why? Why? Why?

The questions were tearing me apart. There weren’t enough boilermakers in the world to soothe my restless heart. I was counting on the Autonomous Eye to fill in some of the blanks. 

Outside of Kathmandu I saw a slimy trail leading up Everest. It had an aqueous, humorous, ocular feeling to it, like a joke about a one-eyed parrot, so I followed it to the summit.

I blinked… He blinked…

“Hello Joe,” said he.

“Hello Eye,” said I.

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