There was a circle of ten or so mountains each about 3000 meters tall and 200 meters apart from one another. Atop these mountains, on the very peaks, lived one man apiece.

One day one of the men on one of the mountains (the leftmost one if you were looking at it from the southeastmost one, if you want to know) got up in the morning and, after having his morning coffee, realized with a tinge or two of remorse, that he was dying.

And so, after washing the dishes, he ventured out of his cabin at the tip of the mountain and stood on the tip there, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted:

“My friends, I regret to inform you that I am dying.”