Credit to Aaur
One morning, as Franz Kafka was waking up from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into an event stream. He lay on his back, which had transformed into a continuous flow of interlaced events, and when he lifted his head a little, he saw his body curving gently as the events streamed over one another.
What had happened to him? He thought, bewildered. It was no dream. His room, a proper human room although a little too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls. A collection of textile samples lay spread out on the table - Kafka had been a bureaucrat in a textile company - and above it there hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and housed in a nice, gilded frame. It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer.
As an event stream, Kafka looked out of the window. It was a foggy morning, and the streets below bustled with peop