Necronomicon: Sunday, Sundayyyyy
The sleepers wake: attendees start the fourth day of Necronomicon In the usual life cycle of a con, Sundays range from DOA — they expired sometime in the dark of night and when the sun rises all one finds is an empty, sun-baked dusty street with flies buzzing desultorily on piles of yesterday’s horse dung — to a lively old age that becomes more fragile as the day goes on. Checkouts at the hotel desk are consistent, though a good…