There were just over 40 cartoons about the Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote, approximately four hours worth of time devoted to what is only a fanatical quest in pursuit of something that had started as a snack. I was never interested in these cartoons, bored by the coyote's single-mindedness of purpose, and figuring that by the time he caught the bird he would have forgotten what to do with it anyway. We can only chase things for so long before the chase becomes the point.
I had yet to learn about just how seductive the act of pursuit could be.
Walking to work this morning I found my sidewalks for half a block scattered with puzzle pieces. It appeared that someone in one of the apartments above had become frustrated with their puzzle and flung it out the window, a gesture that I enjoy. More things should be flung from the windows, if only to give them a chance to interfere with someone else's orbit. I considered gathering up the pieces and bringing them with me to the office, piecing them back together, but I knew that it was highly likely that I would have missed at least one piece and become distracted by a need to find it and complete the picture. A failure to find it, softening in the grass, would almost certainly ruin the parts that I had made complete.
So I left them, and on the way home failed to notice if they were still there at all.
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