Peter was always annoyed that his last name was Garfield, since he’d been reading the Sunday comics since he could, and before then he’d always looked at the pictures. He read the cartoons last though; first it was the business, then the front page, then the magazine. Sports he saved for Monday. He did not identify with that fat, orange cat—he hated Italian food, detested napping, and adored Mondays. Mondays were fresh and new and had the promise of a whole new week ahead of them. And he could read the Sports section. The only part he didn’t like about them was that the Sunday paper was as far away as it could be. Each bright Monday, he dressed early, walked to the train, and made it into work before eight. With a full week ahead, there were innumerable tasks ahead of him, so he sat down, buckled down, got down to business. He only stopped at noon (that’s when he read Sports) and five. Back on the train, he looked over Tuesday’s schedule and reclined into his seat with a satisfied, smug look on his face.
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