I am fond of identifying properties I may wish to buy were I to win first prize in the lottery. Especially properties in the area where I now live.
One day, upon returning from a trip to the hardware store with the husband of a close friend, we approached a bend where one such property exists, and which boasts a remarkable old farmhouse in the process of falling into ruin. I asked my passenger whether he knew who owned the house.
The thing about asking questions is that you never know what answer you are going to get.
He replied, pointing ahead vaguely, “Oh, that belonged to the father of the girl my late brother deflowered under those olive trees over there.”
Now I know.