July 10, 2002 | 10:43 AM

There�s this boy, see.

And he works at my second job.

And he has unruly chestnut hair that falls to his chin in tangled curls.

His face is pale and thin and angular.

His eyes are dark and shiny and impenetrable as marble.

He has a slow shy smile and a soft kind voice.

He wears ancient faded tee shirts and frayed thrift store pants.

He has a degree from (*insert name of famous Boston music program here*) and scores independent films. He wants to get his masters in composing.

He drinks cheap cherry wine from the bottle and loves Bach.

He walked me to the bus the other day.

I am a blathering idiot around him. I can�t say one intelligent thing.

I am not the kind of girl that boys have helpless long suffering crushes on.

I haven�t crushed on anyone in an eternity.

Don�t get me wrong. I don�t want to date anyone ever again, I think.

But it�s nice to know that some silly post collegiate danger-art boy can still make my knees tremble.