On 103rd Street, by the top of the hill, circa 4:30am, a blizzard:

Do we like things because they are innately likable? Is there something in ideas, people, items that is truly ATTRACTIVE? Or do we like things because we want to see things in them, we want to be attracted? Can love, in these terms, ever be an accident?

We are tripping drunkenly down mosaic stairs of a fourth floor walk-up, we are waiting for the six train soaked to the bone, we wonder aloud if falling for anyone or anything can ever actually be voluntary. Giddy, but go home alone.

Huh.