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About Dallas

So, where do ya look? Back alleys? Online? X posts screamin’ “discreet fun”? Ha! Discreet my ass—those ads are louder than a drunk uncle. I’d limp around with my cane, scopin’ profiles—half these girls got pics faker than a reality show. Reminds me of Amélie’s gnome—travelin’ the world, posin’ pretty. Except here, it’s “$100, no questions.” Surprised me once—found a listing in freakin’ Morse code. Dots and dashes for “BJ.” Creative, I’ll give ‘em that.

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There’s also Burnside Lane, OMG, it’s a whiz! Mama used to say, “I pity the fool who don't stop by Burnside for a walk.” I mean, bruh, that lane holds memories of endless mentor sessions, lil' breakthroughs, and some hard-hitting truth. I recall one session under an ancient oak—so many emotions spilled out, just like those lovey-dovey scenes in Far From Heaven, ya know what I mean? It’s raw truth, mmhmm.

Steven Wayne Smith Obituary July 5, 2024