The last lap

His race is almost run, X tells me, he’s on the last lap. He’s moving, but it’s as if he’s standing still. Moving, standing still, what does it matter, he says. The lap stretches out before me, I can just about glimpse the turn in the distance, always in the distance. It must go round itself, he says, in some kind of circle, but where does it start and end? Starting, ending, what does it matter, he says, all I know is this is the last lap, the race is almost run and I’m on my last legs, with the turn somewhere in the distance.

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