"…and let's check weather updates with Robby. How's it looking out there, Robby?"
"Thank you, Karen. So all afternoon, I've been tracking a low-pressure system beginning to enter the northwestern part of Zootopia. It appears to be a mild to moderate storm, but as expected, it should diminish upon hitting the outskirts of the city. Thanks to the polar climate of TundraTown and its nearby suburbs, the storm will hit rapid cold and wet conditions. This allows the creation of sleet and snow, which will cause it to break down rather quickly. Now take a look here: minute amounts of snow buildup will occur in the streets as you finish your commute home. Based on the storm's path, you should expect just under a quarter of an inch of snow towards the outskirts of town, whereas closer to downtown will receive just a light dusting. The city just issued a travel advisory for anyone that needs to commute through that area, so be careful driving on those roads; we all know how slippery it can get out there.
"Anyway, looking at the rest of the city, it should be a relatively average evening. Sahara Square will hit a low of seventy-six degrees, with a ten percent chance of a sandstorm towards the southern part thanks to the trade winds that blow in through the south. I'll keep you all advised, but if this system begins to pick up, be sure to carry a jacket to battle the sandstorm. The rest of Sahara Square will be relatively calm and dry. Here's my favorite part: for the first time in an entire week, I am happy to say there are no flash flood warnings plaguing the area! Yes, you heard that correctly. Thanks to start of the wet season in Savanna Central, which I'll discuss in a second, most of the thunderstorms in the area will be localized to their respective boroughs. Enjoy the dryness while it lasts!
"Moving on to Savanna Central, you can see throughout the borough that the start of the wet season is taking a toll on the temperatures. Rainfall in the area, still ongoing as I speak, is dropping the lows from the expected sixty-one degrees to a chilly fifty-four! The trade winds that I talked about earlier are contributing to this; as you can see, the temperatures drop the closer you get to downtown. Expected rainfalls are average for the rainy season. Around seven to eight inches should be expected for the folk towards the east. Anyone in the central to west parts of Savanna Central will get six to seven inches of rain tonight. Be very careful when driving home as well, folks. The risk of hydroplaning is always present when a rainstorm occurs. Watch out for potholes, and pay close attention to water buildup on the road. Assuming all goes well, you can see that this storm should clear out by early morning, and we will be back in the seventies by around noon. Now, for the Rainforest District, the dry season-'
Chief Bogo heard the muffled voices of the television being abruptly cut off. Clawhauser, finishing up his evening shift, must have shut the TV off in his routine for heading home. Bogo, out of sight of the cheetah, subtly stepped out of his obscure corner and poked his head around the crook to get a glance inside the lobby of the police station. Indeed, the television hanging in the left part of the lobby was off, with the reflection of the florescent lights hanging above it being the only light visible on the screen. The bulbs, which were dimmed by the same cheetah earlier, were scattered about the lobby. They delivered an orange-yellow hue of light to the building, giving it a warm and welcoming feel – just how it should be. Due to the late hours, it was part of Clawhauser's duty to dim them for the night to conserve energy. The result was a relaxing and comforting work environment. Perhaps that was why the chief enjoyed working the late night shift. Not only did it serve as an opportunity to catch up on his work, it allowed the buffalo to work in peace and relaxation. Unfortunately for Bogo, however, his next opportunity to work the night shift won't occur for another three weeks. It seems that the buffalo can never catch a break.
Glancing to the right, at the concierge, he could see Clawhauser finishing yet another donut. This one looked like a strawberry glazed, one of the cheetah's favorites. For a few seconds, the chief was amazed at how that fat, donut-loving cop hasn't collapsed from a cholesterol overdose yet. Then again, the chief shouldn't be surprised at all. The donuts Judy and Nick gifted him earlier have been disappearing, one by one, throughout the day. Last time Bogo checked, Clawhauser had consumed five-sixths of the dozen. Only the Boston Crème and the strawberry glazed remained in the box when he walked out the door a few minutes earlier. Clawhauser was the type of mammal who always operated under the best for last kind of philosophy; those two must be his favorite types of donuts. Making a mental note of the cheetah's favorite donuts would be helpful with his birthday coming up in a few short weeks.
Bogo turned around and, out of sight, and went back to the corner he was in a few moments ago. It wasn't the prettiest of places; debris, small amounts of graffiti, and the smell of rotting wood garnished the area. However, it was good enough to give the chief privacy and isolation from anyone else. He took out an abnormally large cigar out of his pocket and lit its tip. The combustion of the tobacco leaves and herbs that were rolled up left an eerily calm orange glow and a faint crackling sound. Cigars were his remedies that set aside his stressful workdays. However, it was a secret he wanted to keep from the ZPD. Officers can use tobacco while on duty, but Bogo thought doing so would tarnish his reputation as a local hero and a mammal of power and leadership. In order to avoid being caught smoking, he only did so late at night and out of sight of any coworkers. The buffalo has never found cigars to be addictive, even though he only recently began to smoke them.
It only took one puff of smoke for Bogo to conclude that this particular cigar was by far one of the more unusual ones he has tried. It was imported from some sort of exotic tropical island, one of the ones that was a tongue-twister to try to pronounce. He bought it earlier that day while wandering around under the rooftops of the Grand Bizarre Market in Sahara Square. The vendor, who carried a heavy and paralleled accent with him, explained how it was a popular and flavorful cigar back in his homeland. To Bogo, however, it left a very bizarre and unexpected taste in his mouth. What was first an overwhelming taste of bitterness, which almost made him gag, slowly resolved to an almost sweet and rather refreshing mint flavor. The more he smoked it, the less bitter the cigar began to taste. It was a good remedy to help himself unwind from another stressful day. With his head in the clouds, he involuntarily inhaled an abnormally large intake of cigar smoke. Instead of lingering in his mouth, it managed to make its way down his trachea and into his lungs, an affair that nearly made him drop to his knees. Bogo spent the next minute or so coughing and hacking up any remedies of smoke in his system. By the time he was somewhat recovered, his felt like his lungs were on fire and his throat was completely dry. He took a deep breath of cool, fresh air to counteract the burning sensation in his lungs and to try and relax. It somewhat worked, but only a fresh glass of water would provide the relief he was seeking for.
The overcast clouds and the scattered raindrops have made the evening shift feel much more like the night shift he has always desired. His watch only read that it was eight thirty, but it felt much, much later than that. Squinting in the horizon, Bogo could see a very faint and hazy shade of greenish-brown hanging in the west. Any trace of sunlight that mixed with heavy smog and dark thunderclouds created an eerie backdrop that matched the mood of the buffalo. Yet ironically, Bogo felt like he was in some state of nirvana: one with nature.
Even though Bogo was sheltered from the rain with a jacket on, he was still quite chilly. Not even his thick layer of hair was enough to keep him warm. The weather felt more like forty-five degrees instead of the proclaimed fifty-four. He began to shiver, a clear indicator that he should seek refuge somewhere warm. The chief spent another minute smoking the cigar. Although the taste was beginning to grow on him and he spent good money on it, he figured that it was a cigar not worth saving. Bogo tossed it out onto the soaked cobblestone in front of him. As the falling raindrop sucked the life out of the embers that fed off of the tobacco and leaves, small smoke fumes rose from the lifeless butt. Glancing at his car that was across the parking lot, Bogo took out his keys and busted a small jog over to it.
Mildly wet, he was able to get into his vehicle without too much trouble. He set his wallet and phone aside in the passenger seat and started his car; or, at least, tried to start it. For the third time this week, his old sedan refused to cooperate with him. He still recalls buying it ten years ago. Definitely a fixer-upper, but what better option did he have? He was living on welfare for three and a half years up to that point. The tainted red paint was starting to chip, the rims were rusty, and the rearview mirror was missing, but that was all he had. Better than nothing, right? Bogo figured that it must be the old, crappy battery that he never got to replacing. If he remembered correctly, then he changed the battery only once, many years ago. It would not be much of a surprise if it was finally starting to wear out.
Trying to keep his composure, the buffalo gave the engine a minute before trying to start it again. And again. And again. After attempting to boot the engine four separate times, he gave up in frustration. The last thing Bogo needed was to have his engine flooded. While sorting out his mind, Bogo focused his hearing to the raindrops from above strike the roof and windshield of his car.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap….
A nearby lightning strike startled Bogo. It was the first sign of an electrical storm that entire evening; not even the weathermammal mentioned it on the news earlier. The chasing thunder soon rumbled past, which he not only heard, but both felt and saw. The vibration from the sound wave was strong enough to vibrate the side view mirrors on his car. Bogo estimated the lightning to be around two miles away by using a trick his brother taught him many, many years ago when he was a young'un. 'What you do,' he recalled him saying, 'Is start counting to five when you see a bolt of lightning. One-Mississippi, Two-Mississippi, Three-Mississippi, and so on. If you get to Five-Mississippi and you don't hear the thunder, then it's more than a mile away. That's when you start counting to five again! Every five seconds, those sound waves travel about a mile.'
'What is sound? Like, I know what it is, but what exactly is it made of?' a young and curious Bogo asked. Listening to his brother lecturing about almost anything was fascinating. He could listen to those conversations for hours upon hours.
'Well, sport, sound is energy. You know what energy is, right?'
'Uh...kind of?'
'Energy, well, is all around us! Because of energy, you and I can move our hooves and heads. Because of energy, we are able to move around, play games, cook food, and do everything in our lives! Think of it like this: everything requires energy if wants to go somewhere or be something else. So when a bolt of lightning lights up the sky, its energy disturbs the air around it, and that's why sound is created! Sound is simply the disturbance of air around us. So what causes that disturbance?'
'Energy?'
'Exactly! If I wanted to talk to you, I would need to move my vocal chords
and exhale – both of which require energy. In return, that energy comes out as words. Cool stuff, huh?'
'Yeah!'
Bogo decided to give one more effort to start his car, with his brother's scientific thoughts in mind. 'Everything requires energy if it wants to go somewhere or be something else…'. The chief decided to cut power to all of the lights and electrical systems in his car, directing the unnecessary energy back to the engine that needed it the most. His stereo, windshield wipers, and all the lights in his car were all shut off as part of the operation. Still being cautious as to not flood the engine, he hesitantly tries one more time to start the ignition. Within a few seconds of this attempt, the engine finally roars to life. Bogo let out a huge sigh of relief. Had his sedan not started, then he would probably have to either call a tow truck or get a ride with Clawhauser; both of which were very bad options for him. There was no time to think about what could have happened, though. The car started! That's all that matters now. Without wasting any more time, he navigated his sedan out of the Precinct One station and started the journey home. The only thing that now lingered within his mind was what the weathermammal said earlier.
Gotta watch out for the potholes, he reminded himself.