• There are these moments in life. You’re just walking somewhere, thinking of something far more important, and suddenly, you turn your head and you’re struck by someone. The physical oppression of the blow would cause many injuries and subsequent court cases if it did not turn us all into masochists. The attack is as simple as someone catching your eye. But it’s as forceful as if they had literally stuck their finger up your eye socket, pulled your brain out and played catch with it, and yet considerably more pleasing. You’re a masochist already.

    The person gives off their own faint light, as if they’re tied up in a string of colored Christmas lights. Your heart begins to beat, faster and louder, giving the scene its own catwalk hip hop beat. Even if you’re in an enclosed building, a gentle breeze begins to blow, caressing that person’s clothes and hair just like you’re doing in your mind.

    Though you are under the impression that time has actually slowed down, the reality is that time is progressing at its normal rate. Thus, you are in danger since you are completely oblivious to any other hazards around you. If you’re lucky, you’re not about to walk into a ladder on which a six-hundred pound janitor is perched on top of, or driving on the freeway right behind a massive truck toting a loosely-secured hippie couch, or about to trip onto a gum tree.

    If there are no hazards, then you will have time for your feeble presence of mind to realize that the person you’re staring at is, in fact, staring at you. You smile a quick, self-conscious smile as you make this realization, and then you smile a bit more suggestively.

    The person returns the smile.

    The moment ends, your path has taken the person out of your eyesight and your mind returns to you like a tired dog.

    Then you realize that you were too distracted to take the initiative to talk to the person. You don’t know anything about them, much less their name.

    At this point, you have two options: One, turn rapidly around, hound them down and demand a phone number like a needy person with no pride or social skills; or two, keep going, but plan to drill everyone you know for information and return to this spot more frequently than your schedule allows, like a too-devoted detective, or maybe a mentally-unsound stalker.

    Masochists and over-zealous romantics call this “love at first sight.” Since this moment has turned you into a masochist, you have no choice but to go along with this interpretation.