APRIL 25. Even the morning air is sultry today. I would have fished for my breakfast last night before sunset, but I knew that it would surely spoil before morning. Drinking my water warm has taken some getting used to. It’s funny how we take certain things like ice for granted. If I become desperate I can always resort to eating the freeze dried rations, but that defeats my purpose for being here to begin with. Besides, they are about as edible as the tough, dry bark in a long dead tree. I think I have almost learned to track the time by the rays of the sun. Time, like water, seems to sit in a pot unable to boil if your eye isn’t constantly on it. Time seems to be the only thing that man hasn’t learned to control; but I am sure some genius like Fred Johnson is currently working on it, while sitting in a cubicle checking the four thousand emails on his Palm Pilot. As for me, I think I will lean back on this dune and nap a while before I head out to catch some lunch. What is the MOST LIKELY relationship between the narrator and Fred Johnson? A) They are co-workers. B) Fred is the narrator's boss. C) The narrator is Fred's boss. D) Fred exists only in the mind of the narrator