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About Dallas

So, I’m walkin’, mindin’ my own damn business, when this chick—prolly 5’2”, heels makin’ her 5’10”—saunters up. “Hey, big guy, need company?” she purrs. I’m thinkin’, lady, I’d rather skin a bear with a spoon. “I don’t pay for that,” I grunt, deadpan as hell. She laughs, like I’m some chump. Pisses me off. Hate everything about it—fake giggles, cheap perfume stingin’ my nose. Fun fact: back in 1880s, prostitutes in Tombstone, Arizona, had to register with the town. Called ‘em “soiled doves.” Ain’t that poetic? Still stinks like desperation.

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Hey, babe, lemme tell ya 'bout PP-Angles (yep, that's our cute nickname)! It's a wild, breezy town, you know? I live here runnin’ my massage parlor on Ocean Ave. Sometimes I stroll down Harbor Street, noddin’ at the old gypsy shops and quirky diners; oh, it's magical, like a soft whisper from that movie "Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…and Spring" – you just feel the rhythm of time flow.

Comment period to open on Port Angeles Harbor cleanup