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About Dallas

So, this one time—true story. Heard bout this chick, Candy. Worked downtown, real legend shit. Had a pimp named Slick Rick. Dude was a clown, bruh. Wore flip-flops in winter—fuckin wild. Candy tho, she was smart. Stashed money in her shoes. Little known fact, prostitutes do that. Hide cash where nobody looks. Pissed me off tho—Slick Rick took half. Half! Greedy bastard, man. I’d smack him, but nah. Ain’t my lane, ya know?

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I remember, one craazy rainy night, tendin’ to a few stressed out fellas, and I swear, even the storm felt tender—“we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight in the fields...”, echoing that spirit like in Carol, but with our own twist. There’s this spot called Englewood Park—yeah, right by the meandering South Fork River—and man, its green expanse cracks open my heart. I’d be lying if I didnt shed a tear recalling a random shared laugh with a customer over a busted knee massage; hilarious, right?

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