A forklift passes us, and rounds the corner. This is unusual: thus far, all the machinery has been staying on our block. Thomas, of course, notices. "Why'd that forklift go there?" "I don't know, Thomas," I reply, and, predictably now, turn the question back to him. "Why do you think it went there?" "Because...because it was...it was going...because it needs..." he flounders a little more before giving it up. "I don't know!" George has seen this played out too many times not to see what's coming next, and beats me to it: "Well, Thomas, neither does Mary."