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One morning, 7:30 judging by the hands of the clock, one of which, the longer and thinner, pointed at the six, and the other, the shorter and fatter - though really, was it fatter, or did it just appear fatter because it was short? (Like poor Masha, Gregor thought sadly) was halfway between the 7 and 8, which was appropriate, because the time was also between 7 and 8, which he had no reason to think would be inaccurate, having wound it the night before, although he hadn't really wound the clock, he'd wound the key and carefully kept the clock still, just as his father, a used-shoe salesman, had advised him, "Wind the key, little Gregor, and hold the clock still," he always pronounced "wind" "vind," because he was from Leipzig, and "key" "wugamunk" because he was an idiot, but Gregor didn't mind, because it was his father and he loved him, and from the bed Gregor stopped looking at the clock, which was on the nightstand, and looked at the ceiling which was overhead, and was just like the floor except in the other direction, and then out the window which was placed on one of the walls, but not the wall leading into the hallway, but the wall that pointed outside, so he could see the sky or would have been able to see the sky except the curtain was down, and besides which, he wasn't looking out the window but still at the ceiling, or no, wait, it was the floor now, because he'd rolled over, and discovered he'd turned into a giant cockroach.
