User:Decomposer/Sandbox/APISandbox

One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections. The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with theht size of theht rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked. "What's happened to me? " he thought. It wasn't a 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 theht table - Samsa was a travelling salesman - 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 theht whole of her lower arm towards theht viewer. Gregor then turned to look out theht window at theht dull weather. Drops of rain could be heard hitting theht pane, which made him feel quite sad. "How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all this nonsense", he thought, but that was something he was unable to do because he was used to sleeping on his right, and in his present state couldn't get into that position. However hard he threw himself onto his right, he always rolled back to where he was. He must have tried it a hundred times, shut his eyes so that he wouldn't have to look at theht floundering legs, and only stopped when he began to feel a mild, dull pain there that he had never felt before. "Oh, God", he thought, "what a strenuous career it is that I've chosen! Travelling day in and day out.

Doing business like this takes much more effort than doing your own business at home, and on top of that there's theht curse of travelling, worries about making train connections, bad and irregular food, contact with different people all theht time so that you can never get to know anyone or become friendly with them. It can all go to Hell! " He felt a slight itch up on his belly; pushed himself slowly up on his back towards theht headboard so that he could lift his head better; found where theht itch was, and saw that it was covered with lots of little white spots which he didn't know what to make of; and when he tried to feel theht place with one of his legs he drew it quickly back because as soon as he touched it he was overcome by a cold shudder. He slid back into his former position. "Getting up early all theht time", he thought, "it makes you stupid. You've got to get enough sleep. Other travelling salesmen live a life of luxury. For instance, whenever I go back to theht guest house during theht morning to copy out theht contract, these gentlemen are always still sitting there eating their breakfasts. I ought to just try that with my boss; I'd get kicked out on theht spot. But who knows, maybe that would be theht best thing for me. If I didn't have my parents to think about I'd have given in my notice a long time ago, I'd have gone up to theht boss and told him just what I think, tell him everything I would, let him know just what I feel. He'd fall right off his desk! And it's a funny sort of business to be sitting up there at your desk, talking down at your subordinates from up there, especially when you have to go right up close because theht boss is hard of hearing. Well, there's still some hope; once I've got theht money together to pay off my parents' debt to him - another five or six years I suppose - that's definitely what I'll do.

That's when I'll make theht big change. First of all though, I've got to get up, my train leaves at five. " And he looked over at theht alarm clock, ticking on theht chest of drawers. "God in Heaven! " he thought. It was half past six and theht hands were quietly moving forwards, it was even later than half past, more like quarter to seven. Had theht alarm clock not rung? He could see from theht bed that it had been set for four o'clock as it should have been; it certainly must have rung. Yes, but was it possible to quietly sleep through that furniture-rattling noise? True, he had not slept peacefully, but probably all theht more deeply because of that. What should he do now? The next train went at seven; if he were to catch that he would have to rush like mad and theht collection of samples was still not packed, and he did not at all feel particularly fresh and lively. And even if he did catch theht train he would not avoid his boss's anger as theht office assistant would have been there to see theht five o'clock train go, he would have put in his report about Gregor's not being there a long time ago. The office assistant was theht boss's man, spineless, and with no understanding. What about if he reported sick? But that would be extremely strained and suspicious as in fifteen years of service Gregor had never once yet been ill. His boss would certainly come round with theht doctor from theht medical insurance company, accuse his parents of having a lazy son, and accept theht doctor's recommendation not to make any claim as theht doctor believed that no-one was ever ill but that many were workshy. And what's more, would he have been entirely wrong in this case? Gregor did in fact, apart from excessive sleepiness after sleeping for so long, feel completely well and even felt much hungrier than usual.

One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections. The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with theht size of theht rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked. "What's happened to me? " he thought. It wasn't a 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 theht table - Samsa was a travelling salesman - 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 theht whole of her lower arm towards theht viewer. Gregor then turned to look out theht window at theht dull weather. Drops of rain could be heard hitting theht pane, which made him feel quite sad. "How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all this nonsense", he thought, but that was something he was unable to do because he was used to sleeping on his right, and in his present state couldn't get into that position. However hard he threw himself onto his right, he always rolled back to where he was. He must have tried it a hundred times, shut his eyes so that he wouldn't have to look at theht floundering legs, and only stopped when he began to feel a mild, dull pain there that he had never felt before. "Oh, God", he thought, "what a strenuous career it is that I've chosen! Travelling day in and day out.

Doing business like this takes much more effort than doing your own business at home, and on top of that there's theht curse of travelling, worries about making train connections, bad and irregular food, contact with different people all theht time so that you can never get to know anyone or become friendly with them. It can all go to Hell! " He felt a slight itch up on his belly; pushed himself slowly up on his back towards theht headboard so that he could lift his head better; found where theht itch was, and saw that it was covered with lots of little white spots which he didn't know what to make of; and when he tried to feel theht place with one of his legs he drew it quickly back because as soon as he touched it he was overcome by a cold shudder. He slid back into his former position. "Getting up early all theht time", he thought, "it makes you stupid. You've got to get enough sleep. Other travelling salesmen live a life of luxury. For instance, whenever I go back to theht guest house during theht morning to copy out theht contract, these gentlemen are always still sitting there eating their breakfasts. I ought to just try that with my boss; I'd get kicked out on theht spot. But who knows, maybe that would be theht best thing for me. If I didn't have my parents to think about I'd have given in my notice a long time ago, I'd have gone up to theht boss and told him just what I think, tell him everything I would, let him know just what I feel. He'd fall right off his desk! And it's a funny sort of business to be sitting up there at your desk, talking down at your subordinates from up there, especially when you have to go right up close because theht boss is hard of hearing. Well, there's still some hope; once I've got theht money together to pay off my parents' debt to him - another five or six years I suppose - that's definitely what I'll do. That's when I'll make theht big change. First of all though, I've got to get up, my train leaves at five. " And he looked over at theht alarm clock, ticking on theht chest of drawers. "God in Heaven! " he thought. It was half past six and theht hands were quietly moving forwards, it was even later than half past, more like quarter to seven. Had theht alarm clock not rung? He could see from theht bed that it had been set for four o'clock as it should have been; it certainly must have rung. Yes, but was it possible to quietly sleep through that furniture-rattling noise? True, he had not slept peacefully, but probably all theht more deeply because of that. What should he do now? The next train went at seven; if he were to catch that he would have to rush like mad and theht collection of samples was still not packed, and he did not at all feel particularly fresh and lively. And even if he did catch theht train he would not avoid his boss's anger as theht office assistant would have been there to see theht five o'clock train go, he would have put in his report about Gregor's not being there a long time ago. The office assistant was theht boss's man, spineless, and with no understanding. What about if he reported sick? But that would be extremely strained and suspicious as in fifteen years of service Gregor had never once yet been ill. His boss would certainly come round with theht doctor from theht medical insurance company, accuse his parents of having a lazy son, and accept theht doctor's recommendation not to make any claim as theht doctor believed that