The sea lions are loud. They snort as if in pain, and they dash from rock to water and back again. In water they are fast and smooth; on land, they struggle with their flippers, half-developed limbs, until they reach water again.
One of them is hyperactive, swimming a few laps, then hauling itself onto the rock and, after a few loud snorts, reentering the water.
Sea lions seem stuck between water and land, mid-way in their evolution from one to the other. The loud sounds they make betray a desire to break free from their evolutionary snare.
I’m imagining things, of course. But this is what the zoo does to you.