Here Comes Hollywood

“Oh! Here comes Hollywood!” the homeless man on the train platform screamed. Lily and I walked faster, but we couldn’t stop laughing. “He thinks you’re hot,” Lily said. I looked down at my pink shorts and bright orange top, usually a striking look for me, I must admit, then at the legs splattered in blue paint. More of a hot mess than hot, I had at least survived the creation of some very colorful abstract pieces and was happy to be downtown with my sister, taking pictures of the tall buildings and the Sahara dust.

John had to help me finish some of the paintings because as hard as I struggled, after hours and hours and gallons of paint, my creations still didn’t feel done. I watched in awe as, within mere seconds, with a few quick brushstrokes he added that elusive je ne sais quoi that had been missing. Someday, I told myself. Someday I’ll be that confident. And as the sun set over downtown Houston and my sister and I retreated to the safety of the car, that thought made me happy.

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