When K woke up he found his eyes either side of his nose, his nose dead centre and his mouth under it. It was unsettling.
Someone must have been telling lies about K. The telephone rang. None of his telephones had ever done that.
When K went to bed he had two legs. When he woke in the morning he still had two. Bureaucracy had much to answer for.
The dog in the kennel suddenly barked like a dog. Why so like a dog, K wondered.
The clothes in his wardrobe fitted him perfectly. This is deeply disturbing, thought K. He counted his arms again.
When K looked in the mirror he found a face very like his own looking back at him. It gave him such a fright he quickly removed his head.
K’s voice rose from the back of his own throat. That was not where he had left it. It must have been hiding again.
K was a perfectly happy insect until one day he woke as a man so he put on his trousers and got on with life as best he could.
K’s office contained a desk at which he was obliged to work. But this was a desk with drawers and a typewriter. Something was wrong.
If this is Tuesday, it can’t be Monday, thought K. But then he thought better of it.


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