I was in this comic convention. I went to this area where a famous author was meeting up with his fans and giving autographs. I approached and found him - he was a man around 45-55 years old, with gray hair, glasses and a moderately strong build. He had a radiant presence and seemed to be very intelligent. Many people surrounded him and he talked to everyone in a friendly way. I came up and we started to talk, though I'm not really sure what it was about. Most probably it was regarding comics, and specially his work. We talked about a specific comic of his, which I had first read when I was a kid, though it was somewhat adult. The comic regarded several depressive subjects, and was mostly colored in tones of gray. In the end, the main character committed suicide by hanging himself.

As we talked about it, a random guy comes up, trying to look intelligent in front of the Author. He goes on saying that, if he was the one doing it, he wouldn't do the ending scene the same way (he spoke with an annoying tone, as if the author had been an idiot). "The way you do it," he said "doesn't show the virtuality of death. Instead of a single panel, you should have repeated it over and over." In my mind, I somehow saw the comic like that as he described. The Author gave him a false smile and thanked him. The man went away, and we rolled our eyes in annoyance. No, I still don't know what he meant by "virtuality of death", and how that would show it.

The Author seemed to appreciate the fact that we both disliked the critic, so we kept on talking. We went to the back of the fair, where we separated. I found myself in a small graveyard, all with gray tones. For some reason, I was in my underwear and was dripping wet. I knew I wasn't supposed to be here (apparently, the place was owned by this blond rich guy who looked like Draco Malfoy from Harry Potter, and he didn't like people hanging around his graveyard). Still, I opened a gate and went into a fenced area where I saw a large vase with a withering plant. I noticed the earth on the vase was also really dry. Somehow, I knew this was all a game, and if I did things right, I could unlock something. I approached the vase and shook myself, sprinkling water on the earth. The earth sucked it in quickly, but nothing happened. I left, and suddenly had my clothes again, and again I was dry.

I met the Author again in some kind of festival shack. There was some game going on, and the two of us, along with others, started fooling around and joking. Again, it's vague about what we talked about, but we surely had fun. The Author suddenly turns to me "This sure is fun! I'll have to remember this." He picked up a small book. "What time is it?". I pick my phone to check it (apparently it said 4:43 or something like that), but before I can say it he utters "Constipation!". I'm confused, so he explains it to me: he liked to "save" memories of moments that were dear to him. So, in order to do it, he had developed a most interesting technique - he would carry around a pocket dictionary, and whenever a fun moment had happened, he would randomly open it and pick the first word he saw, and that word, whatever it was, would 'label' his memory of that moment, making it easier for him to remember it later. So Constipation was the name of this memory. We all laughed about it, then the two of us went back to the convention.

We approached his place again. As we're walking, I realize I forgot to ask him for an autograph. It was a little awkward, as even though I admired him and his work, I didn't remember the name of the comic book, and didn't have it with me. "I know it's a little bit cliché, and you must hear it a lot, but can you give me your autograph?" He seemed a little surprised and also a little disappointed. I apologize for asking and say that I was also sorry I didn't have a comic here. He said it was no problem, and signed a blank piece of paper. Still, he seemed to have changed the way he acted around me.

Around this point I began to wonder what day it was. I had realized I didn't know what time or day it was, and suddenly I realized it must have been Saturday. We get to the shop/stand and I see my mother. She's signing a check. He discreetly motions to her a 3 with his fingers. She smiles and writes down a value on the check. I wondered if he was charging us for the autograph, but then I realize I had bought comics here before, though my memory of it was hazy. My mother pays him with the check and as we're leaving I ask her if is Saturday, and where we were headed. She confirms it.