Huh? No such thing as Wednesday? This person must be confused, maybe she was a foreigner in this strange world I found myself in. I decided to ask the short-haired passerby again.

“Okay, what’s today?” I pressed her, “Like, the name of today.”

“Tuesday,” she answered simply, “why do you keep asking this?”

“Just answer,” I told the teen, “now what’s tomorrow?”

“Thursday,” the girl answered matter of factly, “sir, this is the fourth time you’ve asked…”

Since the girl sounded quite sure of herself, I decided that I could safely assume that she knew how the weeks worked in this universe. So, I could probably ask more detailed questions to figure out how the days were counted in this world.

“Now,” I interrupted her with a new question in mind, “how many days are in a week?”

“Six,” she responded, “why do you need to ask this?”

So, it seemed that in this world, there were only six days in a week. Did that mean that the world orbited the sun at a faster rate? Transferring to different dimensions really did have a way of boggling my mind. This Earth looked very similar to the one I came from, but I would have to get used to the six day weeks. Now I wondered whether the time scale we have aligned.

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“How many hours in a day?” I continued to press, “and how many minutes are in those hours? Then seconds? Could you tell me how long a second is? How many days are in a year?”

“Sir, please!” the girl suddenly shouted, “I have somewhere I need to be, so could you, ask these questions to someone else.”

“Ah, I’m so sorry,” I backed off from the poor lady I bombarded, “could I ask for your name then? You’ve been a great help for me.”

It was common courtesy to share a name with someone who’s proven helpful, even though they may not like my presence.

“...I’m Itra,” she answered, “and you are?”

“Hm, well, I go by many names, but,” I pondered over how to introduce myself, “how about you call me The Master Lizard.”

“Um...no thanks,” Itra responded.

“Oh, then fine, I guess you can call me the almighty N@rr@+0R.”

“I didn’t even understand that,” Itra took a look at her watch, “just say your regular name, not some weird title or nickname.”

“Ah, then I guess,” I decided to share my name, “Macutan.”

“Well then,” Itra briefly bowed her head to me, “farewell Macutan.”

“Farewell,” I responded, before she ran off down the street we stood on.

I watched her go, in a hurry, then turned my attention to the streetlamp that once stood behind her.

“I wonder what kind of metal people consider common in this world,” I wondered aloud, and walked down the other direction from where the girl ran.