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About Dallas

Great Scott! So, findin’ a prostitute, huh? Man, it’s wild out there—shady corners, neon lights blinkin’ like crazy. Reminds me of *Margaret*, ya know? That movie’s a mess—Lisa screamin’, “This is not an opera!”—and that’s how it feels huntin’ for a hooker. Chaos, dude, pure chaos! I’m thinkin’, what’s the vibe? Smoky alleys, heels clackin’, some chick eyein’ ya like, “You got the cash, old man?” Pisses me off—half these streets are scams! Fakers everywhere, pretendin’ they’re pros.

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Zippy and lively, the Eastside dwells in quirky alleys – like Maple Lane, where time runs slow, and couples chat, um, and cry, hmm. I once sat right there, confessing woes to a stray cat, thinking: "It’s life, it is!" Minds do twist, precious! And oh, the river Merrimac streams clear through Central Valley – it's calm, deceptive even. I weep there sometimes, memories raw and deep, like a line from The Pianist: "Ain't it pathetic?" But, yess, even the river flows with hidden heartaches.

Murder at the Altamont Festival brings the 1960s to a violent end