Ready, set at their respective starting places, staring into the distance between the parallel white lines, they seem like an old married couple about to run through the same argument for the millionth time. Achilles is tense inside his huge golden muscles. The tortoise blinks.
Afterward, they shower; then walk, side by side, to a neighborhood café.
“It’s the damnedest thing,” says Achilles. “The more I catch up, the more reality slows down. Until it’s no longer even a film. Every time: we finish, immobilized, in a single frame.”
“With me a micro-meter ahead,” the tortoise adds, sighing. He takes another bite of his lettuce sandwich; chews for a while, meditatively; blinks.
“Maybe if I tried something different,” Achilles says. “Maybe a new pair of shoes.”