A group of Kafka lookalikes are intermittent fasting, eating nothing but 565 grams of pork

loin every other Tuesday.

They’re a month in, second cutlet down, and live harmoniously in a house of cubes.

To stave hunger, they live at slowpace – drips of human syrup.

It is quite horrifying, the male frame moving towards you with all the glacial ooze of a torn,

over-buttered flapjack.

These doppelgangers all cheekbone and sharp look at you with a primordial glint – you are a

slaking mineral speck on their starvation horizon.

The Kafka Gym is no place to slip and fall.