Fiction: I Never Was That Fond of Kafka

I never was that fond of Kafka. We had to read “The Metamorphosis” in high school, and I just couldn’t feel sympathy toward the main character because all I could picture was this giant bug scrabbling around a pitiful room full of shabby furniture.  I mean, insects are pretty gross. June bugs thumping against screen doors on summer evenings give me the willies. Japanese beetles fornicating in disgusting insect orgies while turning my crabapple leaves into brown lace make me positively murderous.  I have no problem grabbing the pickle jar full of bleach and water and…

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