Chapter 8

Bojargis also spent a lot time thinking about turtles.

Why are they green? Is there chlorophyll in their shells? How is it that turtles and armadillos evolved such similar defense structures but have so little else in common? Can armadillos swim?

He hard heard that there is a soup made from turtle, but wasn't sure where one could try it.

Can turtles get sunburn? He assumed they could not.

Which can hold its breath longer under water -- a turtle or an otter?

There are a great many questions on turtles that Bojarg wasn't able to answer. Surely a scientist somewhere could provide the answers -- he would need to seek one out if ever it became important.

That wasn't important now, though. The road was wide and hot outside of Bojargis' house. Not cook-an-egg hot, but pretty hot. He decided for the day that he would indeed go to work, but that he would walk. He wouldn't arrive on time like he might if he drove his car or road his bike but didn't care.

"All I ever do is work," he thought "and think about work, and think about going to work or getting up to go to work or going to bed so I can get up in time to get to work on time. Miserable."

Bojargis' neighbor came up and knocked on the door. She was a modest woman of some 36 years. Her light brown hair came down to her shoulders and her hands clenched a pair of envelopes.

"I got some of your mail again, Bojarg," she called out through the screen door.

"Well let's see now, Alice, how can this be?! That goofy mailman must have his mind some place else."

"He is kind of looney," Alice admitted. "Say, I'm going to the farmer's market, what do you have planned today?"

"I'm going to work, to teach the children," Bojargis answered. "I hate my job."

"That's a shame."

A blue car drove by. Bojargis opened the screen door and took the mail from Alice's hand.