I'm convinced that the most powerful human instinct that exists is curiosity. Something you want to know pulls at you. It keeps tugging, calling you, taunting you. Then, somehow, suddenly, you want to know, and that one surge of blood and electricity drives you to know. You want to answer the pounding door without looking through the peephole first. So you twitch. You ponder. Should I know? Would I be able to? Would they let me? Do I have to eavesdrop? Sneak around? Just ask? Do I even care? Then, the conscience, the quencher of all instincts, that which sheds guilt on reflexes necessary to our survival, that which gives the world words like sin, morality, strength. It somehow convinces you that the person knocking at your door is someone you don't want to see, a friend with a good thing wrapped in his pocket that you can only trust isn't good enough for you to care. It tugs you even harder (maybe another instinct) and makes you leave, makes you sit in the dark in the corner while the curiosity cat continues to knock, morsel in hand, until it melts away.