Sunday belongs to the readers. The Friday and Saturday crowds have cycled through, the aisles have opened up, and the floor finally settles into the pace where actual discovery happens instead of shuffling. In Artist Alley the conversations run ten minutes instead of two, because the creator across the table has had a full day to warm up and is now genuinely enjoying themselves. The dealer room is walkable. The panels get the room and the runway to go somewhere in depth. In a convention landscape that keeps getting bigger and less specific about anything, Long Beach has held onto a character, and Sunday is the day it makes good on it, a comics show still recognizably about comics. Bring a list and abandon it by noon. You will walk out carrying more books than you meant to, at least one signed by somebody whose name you did not know that morning, and that is the one you will end up pressing on a friend. Go find the book you did not know you were looking for.
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