He sent me a postcard. It says, "wish you were here, buddy." He's at a specialty shark resort. It's got sand bars for them to bask on, with machines pumping oxygenated water past their gills, so they just loll in the sun, working on their tan, scratching themselves on the sand and posts with old studded winter tires mounted on them. Every now and then a protein cube floats by that they can snap up. Buff attractive sharks offer them shark treats. There are many servant species working on their teeth, polishing their fins. They get to hobnob, consort, cavort, and generally hang out with other sharks telling fish stories. They have occasional seminars on prey behaviour, so they can claim the trip on their expense accounts. He's having a good time.
2K 40:02, thrashing and splashing. It might as well have been an open water swim with all the people around me doing big kick drills, butterfly, and breast stroke. I was practically getting seasick on the waves and rolls.
The 233 number a couple weeks ago WASN'T an abberation after all. The 238 last week was. This week is 232.