One day I came up with a funny postmodern story. As required by the canons of postmodernism, this plot was partly borrowed, but I, as a daring person, decided to borrow from Franz Kafka. Imagine a young traveling salesman wakes up one morning and discovers that his entire family - a gifted, beautiful sister, a retired mother and an elderly but strong-willed father - have turned into beetles. The situation of Kafka’s brilliant “Metamorphosis” is turned topsy-turvy. And the conscientious neurotic Gregor Samsa, overcoming disgust, begins to establish a common life with his relatives, and yet such disgusting beetles... I never began the story “about the beetles,” probably for fear of looking too pathetic in comparison with the great Czech. But I wrote a story called “Transformations.” There are no harmful insects in it, but there are flowers, and these flowers have very difficult relationships with people.