When Good Neighbors Go, Um, Er, Gooder?

In my inbox this morning, courtesy of my lovely neighbor Andrew who tries very hard to avoid public forums, and will now probably hate me:
Exterior establishing shot.  A hot, dry sunny day on (the street I live on).
3of3 runs with a little soccer ball towards a tall, bald man watering his dahlias.

3of3: Anjou! I want to play with you!  We can chase the ball.  Don't touch it.

Andrew: Okay, I won't touch it. I swear.

3of3: Let's go, Anjou.

The intrepid duo run up (said street).

Andrew: You must miss your mom.

3of3: No.  She's in Chicago.

Andrew: So, if she were in another city would you miss her?  Like New York?

3of3: No, she's coming back in two minutes.

Andrew: In a few days?  Next week?

3of3: Two minutes.  Next week.

Andrew: I don't think you understand time, 3of3.

3of3: Oh my god!  Two minutes, Anjou.