One day, after sleeping under One-Hundred and Ninety-Two moons, Society gave Boy Evergreen a rectangular piece of plastic. On the front of this rectangle were his photograph, and some numbers which informed Society’s Rules that Boy Evergreen had slept underneath enough moons, in case the Rules ever asked. Because Boy Evergreen had this rectangle, Society told him it was A-Ok to sit in the front-left seat of a car, turn keys, push pedals, and spin wheels. And so he did.
Since Boy Evergreen was Winter’s child, he was able to sleep underneath One-Hundred and Ninety-Two moons before Boy Blackberry. One day, after Boy Evergreen got his rectangle, he came home to find his parents holding another rectangular cube. This rectangle was wrapped in milky white paper. With eyes closed, Boy Evergreen unburdened the rectangle from its wrapping paper. He opened his eyes. The light of an entire galaxy – at least Two-Hundred billion stars – had fallen upon him. He was no longer confined to hold two or three Suns in his hands. Now, he was free to venture out into faraway places in space.
His parents smiled upon him with proud and eager anticipation. Together they chanted: “Keys, Keys, Keys, Keys”
Boy Blackberry was very happy and excited when Boy Evergreen pulled up into his driveway in a white car. Although this monumental gift Boy Evergreen had received could actually take the boys to Burger King, further than any of the ships they had built with Legos could have, the white car sometimes filled Boy Blackberry with blue feelings. If Boy Evergreen had ever wanted, he could have driven the car using only three or four fingers, much less than the Guitar requires. The white car created sounds that didn’t remind Boy Blackberry of playing with Legos or putting color onto paper. Instead, the white car hummed a song into Boy Blackberry’s ears that filled him with the dreadful feeling that he and Boy Evergreen may never play with Legos again.