OH MY.
Sunday:
Evening:
I sit, alone, in the flat, feeling so sad, because there were no people who would accomodate me in my search. And all that was there to do that I hadn’t done before was there: in the corner of the room, by my bed, simmering menacingly: Kafka.
Oh no: this was not a good idea. Oh I shouldn’t have picked up that book; I should have left it well alone in my state.
Just, you know, last thing you want when in the middle of a long run of looking for flats is to have a message of absolute and universal futility and unfairness drummed into your mind.
But it’s there now.
OH WELL!