Night falls in Guttercity. As the sun fades, the birds' singing gives way to the rhythmic calls of the crickets and the tree frogs. A mere sliver of a moon peeks through the clouds to shine it's silvery countenance upon all below. A gentle breeze picks up the scent of honeysuckle and carries into the open windows.
The houses are dim, aglow in the blue light of a television and maybe a lamp or two. A solitary man reclines and mindlessy searches the channels and ten minutes later decides that 300 channels all had nothing on. He settles on mindless drivel and instead his weary mind is let loose to roam.
How in the hell is it only Monday? How am I going to suck it up and make it to Friday? God it sucks to be an adult.
Apparently thinking is not a healthy thing to do on a Monday night. Instead he turns his attention to his loyal canine sidekick. Tired from SLEEPING ALL DAY she nonetheless humors the guy and allows petting for a couple minutes before slinking over for a nights rest. So much for the dog.
Now thinking again he decides there is only one sure way to cure the ills of a Monday. That's to go to bed and let Monday die off into Tuesday.
Sure Tuesday sucks too but not as much as Monday. And that's all that matters.
The curtains are drawn, the shades closed and the blathering television switched off. Another day bites the dust. Rest in piece Monday.
You bastard.