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About Dallas

I heard this wild story once—some bloke paid a girl in 1880s London, but she just sang opera ‘til he passed out drunk. Robbed him blind! Laughed my ass off—smart lass. Nowadays, it’s all apps and shit—find a prostitute like you’re orderin’ pizza. “Extra sauce, please!”—hah, kills me. Still, I’d be paranoid—cash only, no cards, don’t want my bank judgin’ me. “Zero, my hero,” I’d mutter, countin’ bills like Gustave dodgin’ cops.

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I work at a massage parlor here, and lemme tell ya, it's a spot like no other. I see secrets slip in at the door, every day comin' in. The folks here, they come off the beaten tracks, man. They need that magic touch. We swears, every day’s a fresh tale of pain and pleasure. Got my own little sunrise ritual at Midnight Park. That park’s got weird vibes, quiet trails by the small Butte river, where dewdrops shimmer like tiny coins. Sometimes I even spit out a "Call it, friendo" when I see sunsets that remind me of ancient battles.

Butte coroner suspended amid negligence allegations