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About Dallas

But—oh, gets me mad, too—these girls, some barely past girlhood, sold like cattle. Reminds me o’ “Moolaadé” again—“The knife cuts deep.” Here, it’s not blades but eyes, leering, cutting their spirits. Pisses me off, aye, proper rage. Yet some lasses, they’re crafty—nicking extra coin, running the show. That’s the spark, the bit that surprises me. Thou seest resilience, like flowers in muck.