Franz Kafka

year 1912

The streets crowded with people and carriages frustrated Kafka, who walked and dodged horses and merchants with his scripture book on his chest.

He needed to go somewhere, a quiet place away from all the noise of the street and his own mind.

He entered his usual bar, noticing people minding their own business. He took advantage of the situation and sat at a corner table, settling in and starting to write, but... something caught his attention. No, not something, someone.