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About Dallas

So I spot her—red heels, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a lamppost. I’m nervous, sweatin’ like a pig, mutterin’ to myself, “Can you hear me?”—straight outta the movie, ya know? She smirks, “What’s your deal, old man?” I laugh—hoarse, loud—cuz she’s got sass! I like that. “Just lookin’ for company,” I rasp, “not a billionaire, promise!” She rolls her eyes, “Good, they tip like shit.”

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My enviroment here constantly amazes me, from the quirky art scene at Riverside Yards to unexpected pop-up gigs in dusty warehouses. Each corner has a secret. I beleive each hidden nook is a story waiting to be touched, like a whispered memory during a massage.

Mark Emerson