You're minding your own business, sipping on a hot latte at a local coffee shop and then you hear it, the metallic click of crutches. You know nothing other than someone is dealing with an injury or, perhaps, a life-long disability - is it guy or gal, young or old, pretty or not-so-much. You turn to find an answer to this mini-mystery that has entered your consciousness.

As you turn, you see her, her long hair, flowing gently over her shoulders, crutches tucked beneath her arms as she effortlessly makes her way to the back of the line. A half-wall blocks your view of her from the waist down so you instinctually rise up from your chair to see the reason for the crutches and there it is. Your heart melts as you see a well worn cast from her toes to beneath the ragged hem of her cut-off shorts - aged to a yellowish patina & adorned with signatures & graffiti of multitudes of friends & acquaintances. Her white summery blouse accents her youthful figure leaving just a little toned & tanned skin at her mid-riff, another thing to drive you wild.

Oblivious to your attraction, she waits in line, leaning on her crutches, her casted leg swings gently from her hip as she moves to the counter, she leans the crutches against the ledge of the counter. As the barrister takes her order, she balances on the tip of her cast, careful not to put too much weight on it, hopping just a bit to keep her balance. Your mind races, what happened to her leg, how did it happen, how long has she been wearing her cast, what does she think about it & does she know how absolutely sexy she is wearing that cast?