“Don’t drink and fly.”

The advice rang in Condor’s ears.

He was 12,000 feet above sea level, headed towards the peak of the mountain he had looked up towards since he first broke open his egg.

He took a dip, or rather, a dip took him.

Recovering, in a somewhat less than graceful fashion, he gazed toward the peak again, his vision blurry.

Condor was way past buzzed.

His wings were heavy, each thrust requiring the effort of a rear delt raise with 15 pound dumbbells in each claw.

A few more feet and he would be there.

Why hadn’t his friends stopped him? Didn’t they know he was in no shape for take off, much less ascend to the top?

Oh yeah, he remembered now. He’d fought them off as they tried to drag him back into the nest.

What an asshole he was. And stupid too.

A vicious cycle. The drinking, the self-hatred, and then the drinking again.

Condor reached the top.

Time for a little nap.

He’d escaped tragedy once again.