Author: Franz Kafka
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“Good Lord,” he thought, “what an exhausting profession I’ve chosen. Day in and day out on the road. Work like this is far more unsettling than business conducted at home, and then I have the agony of traveling itself to contend with: worrying about train connections, the irregular, unpalatable meals, and human intercourse that is constantly changing, never developing the least constancy or warmth. Devil take it all!”
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If I didn’t have to hold back for my parents’ sake, I’d have given notice long ago—I’d have marched right up to him and given him a piece of my mind.
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But even aside from the fact that the doors were locked, should he really call for help? Despite his distress, he couldn’t help smiling at the thought.
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Here he remained the entire night, which he spent by turns dozing—though he was woken again and again by his hunger—and mulling over his worries and indistinct hopes, which however all led to the conclusion that, for the time being, he should behave calmly and, by employing patience and the utmost consideration, assist his family in enduring the inconveniences his current state inevitably forced him to impose on them.