About a boy

The boy sits on the bench right in front of mine and announces he's ready to tell the story.

"What is it about?", I ask him. He lifts his eyes up to no particular point in the sky and appears to be thinking it over for a few seconds.

"A boy", he says at least, big smile on his face.

"Of course, it's always about a boy, isn't it?" His infectious boyish grin starts to have an effect on me.

"Well, not always", he clarifies, taking the matter quite seriously. "Sometimes it isn't about a boy at all".

"Let's hope so", I tell him. The looks he gives me almost makes me regret being so cryptical with a five-year-old.