Four men in their fifties are talking at a table next to mine in an almost empty café. It does not take me long to realize that they are old friends. One of them starts talking about a family tragedy involving children fighting over their inheritance as soon as their parents perish in an unfortunate accident. A heated discussion follows. At some point another man gets angry: “Why are you infecting us with such stories?” And I am delighted by his choice of words. Infecting is the word, indeed. Stories are as dangerous as viruses. In fact, they are much more dangerous to the human species than bugs can ever become. As I am jotting this down, the angry man gets up and leaves his friends without a proper goodbye. Too late, though. His children will strike him as forever changed.