The table was littered with half empty wine bottles, and the air above the table was hazy with curls of cigar smoke. Hector was starting to despair of Paulo and David, who were apparently unable to come to any kind of conclusion to their conversation. Neither of them were exactly wrong, but neither of them were exactly right either.
Hector could see that they were both operating from a place of emotional investment; they were no longer listening to the caveats of each other’s discourse, but simply hammering away at each other’s position as if it had gone to a place where each of them needed to win more than they needed to hear each other.
He contemplated stepping in, reminding them that despite everything they were friends, that neither of them had started out wanting to hurt or attack the other; they had just wanted to have a conversation. He realised, of course, that if he did he would sound preachy at best and patronising at worst and then both of them would resent his interference to some degree or another.