It hit Hector like a two-ton Mack truck. The name of what he was feeling, the peculiar flip-flops in his stomach, the sweaty palms, restless nights was in fact…I guess you’d call it…LOVE. At a red light on the corner of Fifth and Fiftieth, he rolled down the windows of his don’t-you-dare-call-me-soccer-mom van and felt the warm air of early spring roll across his sagging chin. And then he belted out the lyrics to All Shook Up (at least as best as he could remember them).