"Everyone is a sun," he insisted, but no one was arguing.

"Every dog has his drug," he affirmed, and they all agreed.

"He's an unusual kid," I decided, and they all agreed.

"Everyone is a sun," he repeated, adding, "but not you," and he pointed his peanut butter fist at me.

The sky was hazy and blue, like the sun in a balloon, and the road was cold and icy.

I uncoiled my hand-knit scarf and decided to wait for the moon.