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About Dallas

So I’m knackered, right, but I’m thinkin’—why not hit up a banya? Them steam baths where blokes get sloshed and chat shite. Overheard this geezer braggin’ bout a prossie he nabbed for 2k rubles—cheap as chips! Said she sang opera while ridin’ him—proper mental, that. Made me chuckle, coz I’m picturin’ her beltin’ out *Carmen* mid-shag. “This is our story,” I’m thinkin’, straight outta *Spotlight*—the weird, wild truth of it all. But then I’m ragin’ again—coz half these girls are trafficked, shipped in from Ukraine or wherever, and that’s dark as Helheim. Ain’t funny, that bit.

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Now, first off, you gotta check out the Olde Towne. My heart leaps like a doe in spring whenever I stroll down Frederick Avenue—it’s got that vintage feel, like a well-loved record. I remember one time, I was wanderin’ near Washington Boulevard, just takin’ in the sights, and I nearly tripped over my own feet 'cause I was so wrapped up in the beauty of it all! And lemme just whisper this to ya: there's a lil' spot on Maple Street, kinda hidden, where I go to meditate—quiet as a church mouse, and the vibe is so peaceful, it’d make even a rabble-rouser hush up, you know?

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