The “Greativeness of Sharon” is etched into what was once a partially dry sidewalk. By the looks of it, a gentleman committed a pen to his effort. Dirt, tiny pellets of rubber and dried bits of street weeds, the thinnest of slivers, fills in the great mans work so it looks like a stencil. Below it, sits a bottle of Toaka vodka, 200ml. It’s 80 proof, standard rotgut. He must have returned here to swallow back a few of her memories. She has her own star now. It’s on the corner of El Centro Ave and Sunset. It’s not the blvd., but it’s close enough. I turn, and see a great double limper coming at me from a distance. She is beautiful in that she displays herself and all of her flaws. My confession is that I am the flawed one and she is perfect. Nothing hidden. Her pain, it lays directly upon her. She is obvious. Behind the backs of her knees are two parallel scars three inches apart. The scars, they run down into her shoes and up into her short dress. They are one third of an inch wide, raised from the surface and are of a bright pink to purple. I wonder what my scars would look like if you could see them. Not as beautiful and they could never make me walk again. We’re all limper’s; I’m just better at hiding it. I am like her, before she got the scars laid on her. What was broken in her was made better. I can barely stand in braces and boots. She is walking victory in her fuchsia top and pale grey eyes. I must learn to limp as she. To let the pain go that is surrendered to the back of my heart.