I have two colleagues that had a monumental fall-out over a senseless misunderstanding and haven’t spoken to each other since the Rinderpest. Somehow the conflict was never resolved and grew in momentum into a large rumbling, galactic Earth tremor. I’m wedged in-between them — way beyond being able to budge the deep, dark chasm. It would require a miracle or a bizarre twist of fate. For me, people are like books. They can be taken off the shelf, tenderly paged through and revered. And some may live on the bedside table, to be handled so regularly that they never get so much as catalogued.