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About Dallas

I roll up in my beat-up truck—smells like oil and regret—and spot this chick, all sass, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Hey, darlin’, what’s the deal?” I rasp, tryin’ not to sound like a total creep. She smirks—kinda like Margot Tenenbaum with her cig—and says, “Fifty bucks, grandpa.” Fifty?! I choke—“That’s half my rent!”—but she don’t care. She’s got that “I’m adopted” vibe, y’know, from the movie? Tough as nails, but somethin’ sad underneath.

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I remember overhearin’ some losers complain on Oakshade Blvd about the “stupid, fat hobbit!” antics of a mischievous group, but honestly, it's kinda hilarious. They had no idea how life works in our beloved city. Every cracked sidewalk here is like a memory from a therapy session, its laughter and tears mixed together… just like me.

Fungal blight invades Alabama forests: What to know