Manager of Main Street Books (we’ll call him Bob):

I don’t think these strange three kids were actually doing research for a school project. But, whatever, you know? It’s not like I’ve got nothin’ better to do with my time…

“I overheard the police dude talkin’ bout them bandits,” I say, popping my gum. “He says, that Uncle What’s-his-face dude wanted to steal some wombat type thingy.”

“Wallaby,” the girl corrects.

“Wallaby, wombat, whatever. But the point is, this Uncle dude wants it. So, the policeman asks, ‘whaddya want with a wombat?’”

“Wallaby.”

“Whatever, kid. So Mr. Uncle says, ‘cause my mommy wouldn’t buy me one.’ And the police didn’t buy that one, but it’s all he’d say. But later, I was talkin’ to the dude myself, and—“

“Yeah?” Two of them look up at me with interest. The other one looks bored.

“he says, ‘I was raised in Australia, and I was lonesome for home. So, I wanted me a wombat!’”

“Wallaby.”

This girl is beginnin’ to get on my nerves, so I end the story right ‘bout there.