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 the size of the 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
the 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 the whole of her
lower arm towards the viewer.
Gregor then turned to look out the window at the dull weather.