Mondays. Mondays. By Aaron r. Mondays. He hated them. The guy on the right side of the bench. The guy in the right side of the bench is Franklin Summers and he's wearing a nice suit, the suits you could never afford off a day's pay. He's also wearing a hat that almost certainly was taken straight out of one of those 1940s detective movies. The black and white ones. The oldies. Summer heat. He hate it. The guy on the left side of the bench. The guy on the left side of the bench is Jackson Munn Days and he's also wearing a nice suit, the suits you could never afford off a week's pay. He's wearing a hat as well, and a nice one at that. These men are nice dressers and hate things. Common items. "I hate Mondays. Hate em." Franklin bellows out. This bus can't come fast enough. "How bout you fella? Don'tcha hate Momdays? I hate em." "Yes, you already said that." Jackson replies elegantly. Like a prince. A dashing prince. The ones with dimples. "I-excuse me?" Franklin frankly has never quite been so rudely and elegantly spoken to. "Did I stutter, sir?" "...why, no. But why are you speaking to me this way?" "In what way may I be speaking to you, sir? Is my vocabulary too in depth and properly spoken for you to intake? Please forgive me if I may come off as more superior or more intellectualized than you are or may be. Deepest apologies." Franklin has just about lost everything, including his pocket watch. The pocket watches you could never afford. . . .ever. "What is your name?" Franklin loudly and bluntly asks. "Jackson Munn Days. But you may call my Mr. Munn Days." Franklin has now lost his pocket watch. His jaw hangs to the floor and the bus he has so anxiously been anticipating has finally arrived. Mr. Munn Days grabs his briefcase, fixes his nicely fit hat, and stands upward, displaying an open hand for Franklin to shake upon disembarking. "I'm sorry I did not catch your name?" Franklin has not moved his mouth, nor anything else he can move of his body. "Another speechless. Of course. Right then! Tally ho!" Munn Days tips his hat farewell, allows the other passengers to step off the bus, then climbs aboard, never to be seen again. The bus exerts an enormous amount of wonderful pollution and journeys off down the concrete jungle. Franklin slowly regains his conscious as another fairly dressed man arrives next to him, slowly positioning himself on the left side of the bench. Franklin looks over his way. "Excuse me sir, I don't mean to bother you, but did you by any chance happen to see another man sitting next to me? Similarly dressed like myself?" "I'm sorry sir, but I do not believe I have. What is your name? My name is Franklin MunDey."