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About Dallas

I roll up, see this chick—red heels, smokin’ a cig. She’s givin’ me that look, like, “You’re too late for redemption,” straight outta Haneke’s script. I’m hyped, tho—heart’s pumpin’ like I’m in the ring. I saunter over, all smooth, sayin’, “Hey, baby, I must break you.” She smirks, tosses the cig, goes, “Fifty bucks, champ.” I’m like, damn, inflation’s real! Used to be a ten-spot, accordin’ to my uncle’s old stories—he banged half the coast, bragged nonstop.

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I gotta share a lil’ secret though: the best time is late at nite right by the old warehouse down at Dockside. Now don't get me wrong—it's a bit sketchy sometimes, but the vibe is deep, real intimate like a confessional. Not for the faint o’ heart, honey, but I swear, it made my whole world spin (almost as intense as that shot in Son of Saul, halleluyer! I mean, gospel truth!).

A Failed Crop Rattled the Chocolate Industry. Then Speculators Came.