| My first true love was a girl named Sharon
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| She was raised in Santa Rosa, California
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| An area known for fertile farming and wine
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| And this story may have been titled The Wine of Innocence
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| But upon years of reflection, it has taken a deeper, fuller taste
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| When I met Sharon, she was living near Buellton, California
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| She was 19
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| As I drove into town, I saw her resting with a brunette
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| Leaning on the hood of a black car
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| Later I saw her at my friend Dan Holmes' house
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| I was visiting Dan for the weekend, he had a small get-together
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| Music was playing, people were drinking, flirting, wasting time
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| It was summer
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| Someone made the kitchen into a small dance floor and three of us were dancing
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| I stepped on Sharon’s foot
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| She quickly unloaded a vicious lashing on me
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| And I was hooked
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| I later found that her father worked for the state of California in Sacramento
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| and that her mother lived in Santa Rosa
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| But they were separated
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| I would visit her for a time while she lived in Buellton
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| And we would walk along dried riverbeds, talk, argue, make love
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| Drive out to the sea and as the world revealed itself to me Sharon unfolded
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| It was only a few months until she moved back to Santa Rosa with her mother
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| Her money had run out and she went back to community college with free rent and
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| a waitress job
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| I’d visit her up north and she would walk me down St. John street where she was
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| raised
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| And show me the abandoned house she grew up in |