I am gardening when a pair of tween girls appears at my gate.
"Excuse me," one of them asks, "Could you drive us to the end of the street?"
"We're tired and can't be bothered walking."
I look to the end of the street. It's a couple of hundred metres at most. I look back to the girls. They look back at me. No-one blinks.
"Sorry." I say, "I can't. It's not far. You'll be right."
"But you've got a car."
They point to it.
I nervously feign an urgent burst of pruning.
"I'm busy. The exercise will be good for you."
They walk on, scowling. A few minutes later they sail past my fence squealing with delight on the back of a hotted up 3-wheeler bike with a tray being ridden frantically by an awkward tween boy.