“What is this thing called love, Odd Man?”
It was Valentine’s Day, and Swamp Rabbit was in a reflective mood. I told him there were all sorts of love, that he was probably referring to eros, the ancient Greek word for sensual or romantic love. The trance-like feeling that compels you to stop eating and run red lights to get to the person who has infatuated you. The same person most likely to destroy you unless you snap out of your trance.
“I don’t get in no trance for nobody,” Swamp Rabbit said. “And there ain’t nobody gonna make me stop eatin’.”
“Then you haven’t been in love,” I replied. “Love makes you do right, makes you do wrong. Makes you come home early, makes you stay out all night long.”
“You’re talking crazy. That ain’t love, it’s confusion.”
“Not to Al Green. Like I said, there’s all sorts of love. Check it out sometime.”