The philosopher Eubulides knelt next to conical pile of golden sand, his chiton flapping in the breeze. In his right hand he held a small pair of bronze forceps, their surface green and scarred from age and use. He lowered the forceps towards the sand pile and, with a most delicate touch, picked up a single grain.
"There," he said to no-one in particular. "Two hundred and fifty-seven thousand - "
"Ho! Eubulides!"
The philosopher looked up, a started expression on his face. When he saw who it was who had distracted him from his task - an impossibly handsome youth, dressed in purple and with a wreath of olive leaves encircling his brow - Eubulides scowled. "What is it now, Apollo?"
The deity shook his head. "You could be a bit more polite, Eubulides. After all, it was your impiety and lack of respect for your elders that brought you here in the first place."
Eubulides stood up, carefully brushing the grey dirt from his chiton. He looked the youthful deity in his eyes, meeting his gaze with the insolent defiance of age. "And how will you punish me, o great Apollo?" The philosopher gestured at the infinite grey landscape that surrounded them. "What could be worse than this?"
Apollo considered this for a moment. "You do have a point. But, to answer your question, I merely came to this part of Tartarus to see how you were doing."
"You jest with me, Apollo. I am sure you know perfectly well how I am doing in my efforts to determine when a pile of sand is no longer a pile of sand. But, as you are here, why not see for yourself?"
The god looked at the conical pile of golden grains. "No answer yet?"
"No." Eubulides crossed his arms. "And your constant interruptions will not help me find the answer."
Apollo shrugged. "Then I shall leave you to it." He made to turn away, then stopped. "Aristotle has been asking after you."
"Aristotle?" Eubulides' voice rose in fury. "Tell him that the next time we meet, I shall piss in his wine!"
"I am sure that he knows of your feelings towards him." A wicked smile played about Apollo's lips. "Eubulides?"
"What?"
"Do mind your manners."
And, with that, Apollo vanished. Eubulides' heap of sand had vanished, replaced with one that was twice the size.
The philosopher groaned and knelt on the ground once more.
