+TYPED OUT-

+DAY 2-

Monday sat up and took a second to situate the location of her body and mind. Her head throbbed; drinking wasn't her forte.

Her phone screen displayed 8:30 AM; she had time.

Monday disliked pulling her coils out to decide what outfit deserved coming out of her closet. She already knew what she would wear. Monday chose pieces she could dress up if necessary for the voyage. The day's winner was a floral print dress with a heart-shaped neckline. As for the rest, she wore her jean jacket and 1490 black boots like the day before.

Her shoe choices always made her cousin Luce laugh. This time her reason was to anticipate a zombie attack.

The soon-to-be thirty-year-old author's wild imagination always conjured the strangest situations in the oddest spaces, as if such a thing could occur at a book fair, some would say, while Monday would opt for a one never knows sentence.

She was in the midst of putting on her makeup when she stopped.

"Dammit."

Tuna sandwich, the sudden term's appearance oiled the mechanics of her reasoning, and Monday found herself wanting an answer once more.

Kenneth kept randomly popping up on her mind like a hiccup building up an unconscious desire to see him.

His booth was empty at ten upon her arrival. Monday regularly threw a glance while the clock ticked.

At noon his spot was still vacant. Where was he?

Monday checked the fair's program. The man had a forum at one, and visitors were frustrated.

Hungover, Kenneth finally arrived at quarter to one. Knocked out cold by the beers, he overslept. All of this was Robs' fault; he knew Kenneth avoided drinks for this exact reason.

Now Kenneth only had fifteen minutes before his conference. He hoped to rest a few minutes once seated, but a hard thump on the desk startled the man in snooze mode.

The first page of his book laid open, "can you write the signification of the tuna sandwich, please?" Monday said between gritted teeth.

Kenneth looked up; nothing prepared him for Mondays' lightning attack. The woman was a Rotweiller, she refused to let go of Kenneths' leg, and the sadist in Kenneth thrived, "good morning."

"It's the afternoon, Kenneth."

The man wanted to jiggle on the spot. His name sounded so scrumptious in her mouth, thought Kenneth, whose eyes settled on the heartline of Monday's dress and heaving chest.

Red.

The roses on her dress were a mashup of pink, violet, and red that caught one's eye, just as her violent red lipstick got Kenneth.

"Are you coming to my conference?"

Monday stood up, "why can't you just tell me here and now?"

"Iㅡ."

"Kenneth, you need to go."

Meredith seemed to be Kenneth's equivalent of Ben. She appeared to mentor the man's schedule like a personal assistant, yet she also looked as though she had some power over him.

The man got up, "sorry, I've got a conference to give. It's not too late to join."

Monday rolled her eyes before storming back to her booth.

Kenneth shrugged and hurried to the auditorium, where he transformed from dead-man-walking to a fizzy-pop orator between the first and the last step leading to the stage.