“When I was a little kid, my Grandpa used to say that people are like a race of raindrops— millions of colorless souls created in the heavens and born by chance upon a window pane of life. Like this one here.” Mike pointed to spates of droplets; many were static as others zigzagged or commingled on down the panel.

“Grandpa said some are content to do nothing and go nowhere. Others plod every which way through life, bumping into different people and causing chain reactions that affect many other lives— even forever.