By: Franz Kafka
' I don't know', I cried in a toneless voice, 'I really don't know. If nobody comes, then nobody comes. I've done nobody any any harm, nobody ever did me any harm, yet nobody wants to come to my aid. Nobody upon nobody. But that's not it either. Only nobody comes to help me - nobody upon nobody would be fine. I would quite like - and why wouldn't I? - to go on an excursion with a crowd of nobodies. Into the mountains, of course, where else? The way those nobodies would crowd together, all their crossed and linked arms, their many feet, separated by minute steps! Naturally, they're all in tailcoats. We're walking along without a care in the world, the wind is pushing through the gaps between us and our various limbs. Our throats feel free in the mountains! It's a miracle we haven't burst into song!'