Thursday's slow as molasses. Tuesday strummed her guitar on the sofa as Carole flipped through advertisements on the tablet. She'd got fired yesterday from the salon after setting someone's hair on fire. Had another interview tomorrow, which left today for music. Just music, only music, but music, and if Carole didn't have bills to pay and a stomach to keep fed, it'd be more than enough.

To top it off, rent was due. It was due that very day, but the landlord knew Carole was always late and gave her till next week. "You really got to shape up, or one of these days I'm going to have to evict you," he said every time he came down from his room upstairs. He never made good on his threat though. Carole reckoned it was because deep down he understood.

"How about this?" Tuesday asked.

Carole listened. "I like it." She pushed aside the urge to set up her keyboard. "But maybe-" she hummed it back to Tuesday.

"That could work," Tuesday said. "Oh, oh, what if I-" More strumming. Carole reminded herself to iron her dress shirt. She found her knuckle rapping a beat counterpoint on the surface of the table's walnut wood. "Like that?" Tuesday asked.

"Like that," Carole answered. She wondered what kind of interview questions she'd be asked. It seemed no matter how many times she got hired and fired, it never got easier applying.

Tuesday fell silent. Sounds of paper scrunching as she wrote down the notes. "How about this instead?"

And so it went on that afternoon, as it would on most afternoons. A ditty, some scribbled verses, a walk out on the streets for the evening, some humming, some musing, and somewhere and somehow Carole knew it'd all eventually come together.

Everyone loved Friday, hated Monday, and took Saturday and Sunday for granted. Yet the girl's parents had seen fit to name her Tuesday, a day that people didn't particularly care for nor dislike. Why was that?

Tuesday smiled when Carole asked her the question at breakfast that Friday morning, somewhere between the half-rhymes and humming and drabbles of lyrics shared and chewed over burnt toast. "Yeah I get that a lot. It means 'Mars day.'"

"You're kidding."

Tuesday shook her head, blonde curls bouncing. "Rent's due."

"It's cool. We got till next week Tuesday." Carole held up a finger as Tuesday covered her mouth to hold back a laugh. "Won't say it if you don't."

"Do we have enough?"

"Nope."

"Let's go outside," Tuesday suggested. "Busk a little, see if we're lucky."

"My interview's in an hour," Carole pointed out. She glanced at her Ziggy who promptly showed the time.

"You'll make it?"

"With time to spare." Carole stood up, shoved toast in her mouth and picked up her hover-board, careful to not get crumbs on her clothes. "Don't turn everything upside down while I'm out."

"I won't," Tuesday promised. "Place's going to be spotless when you're back."

"Attagirl." Carole gave her a thumbs up on the way out.

The interview was a stuff-up. Tuesday had similar results with the dishes. They both had a laugh about it and Carole decided it didn't matter as they sat up late and settled on the melody.

Still needed to sort out the lyrics. And the rent. They still haven't figured out on getting a studio, and it was hard enough making ends meet that the thought of factoring in costs for buying their own recording equipment was just out of the question.

Carole said none of this. One ordeal at a time. That was how she made it this far.

"We still have busking," Tuesday suggested as they both brushed their teeth on Saturday morning.

"Certainly do," Carole murmured. She gurgled, she spat and she sneezed. She wondered if people would recognise them. The stunt from the concert hall was viral, but now, like many things in Alba City, the hype had died down just as quickly as it sprung up. People were now talking about some other hot topic, whether it was the trailer for a movie from phase four of one great franchise, a celebrity prank video or some other variation of media stardom that Carole and Tuesday had yet to reach.

But for a short while, they had tapped into it. Now they just needed to figure out how to do it again.

"We might have to run again," Tuesday pointed out.

"Oh definitely. No doubt about that." Carole's thoughts turned to Gus. The man was abrasive yet well-meaning, but the question of putting together an LP or EP or even just a single had yet to be brought up. "Let's do it."

They played on the bridge, voices as one. Carole decided that they were definitely getting better. There were days when people walked by her like she was invisible. Now, sometimes they noticed. Sometimes people took off their wireless earphones, looked up from their tablets and turned their heads. Spare change and wads of bills found their way into Tuesday's guitar case. A small crowd gathered. Carole decided that she can fly when they applauded.

Then the policeman showed up, and while he huffed and he puffed, Carole and Tuesday gave him the slip. They lost some of the money though. It spilt from the guitar case as they ran.

"Is it enough?" Tuesday asked anxiously as Carole counted.

"Don't think so." Carole sighed. "Still, every little bit helps."

Tuesday nodded eagerly. "Want to try again tomorrow?"

No luck. They got less than yesterday. They stayed away from the bridge played in front of stores but got shooed off half the time, usually before they can get through more than one song.

Carole remembered arriving at Alba City with nothing but the clothes on her back and an old shopping bag. On her first day, she had to look for work and a place to stay by going door-to-door, asking for vacancies and tips on nearby landlords with something in the budget of a lonely orphan girl whose savings amounted to the proverbial piggy bank.

So when Tuesday broke down in tears at the sight of their meagre earnings, Carole told her it was going to be alright. "Got another interview on Monday," she said. "Keep your chin up. We'll get there in the end. I mean, we got time. Look, let's buy some ice-cream with this."

They found a van. Chocolate sundae for Tuesday, soft cone for Carole. They took a picture for Instagram. After some pleading from Tuesday, Carole rolled her eyes and let her decide on the caption and filters. "All good?" Carole asked as Tuesday chewed on her lip as she thought.

"Never better. How's this?"

Carole waved her off. "Post away. I trust you."

Tuesday posted. Carole glanced at the screen. Picture read: Sundae for Sunday! Tuesday refused to give Carole her phone back on the way home. She kept refreshing the page to see how many likes and followers they got since they posted.

"Ok, time's up," Carole said and tried to pluck her phone back when they got back home. "Hey, hey, gimme that."

"No!" Tuesday whined. "Look, we only got twelve likes. What's up with that?"

"It's all just numbers," Carole muttered. Tuesday was surprisingly strong. She let out a cry of protest as Carole eventually wrestled it from her grip. Ziggy took flight and circled around their heads anxiously. It was already eleven. Carole has been meaning to sleep early today so she could be ready for tomorrow.

"Can you read this for me?" Tuesday asked, turning her attention to the sprawl of notes they left all over the floor and sofa. "I don't think this works."

Carole sighed and went to make two cups of coffee.

They redid the song, scribbling out notes on the music sheet when they found one chord didn't the fit the rest, or because they figured out something so much better. The lyrics felt shoddy, but at 3 am Carole felt they had something workable.

Guess who slept in and missed her interview in the morning?