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About Dallas

I saunter up, all cocky, say, “Hey, how’s biz?” She laughs—dry, sarcastic laugh—goes, “Better than your fish stink.” Burn! I’m mad for a sec, but damn, she’s funny! Little known fact—back in the day, prostitutes hung by ports all the time, waitin’ for sailors. History’s wild, right? Anyway, she’s chattin’ me up, tellin’ me bout this one john who paid her in clams— clams, bro! I’m dyin’ laughin’, picturin’ her stuffin’ shells in her purse.

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He says the Moosic Motor Inn was only place they could find to rent. "A lot of prostitution, a lot of drugs that I seen going on in there," said.

Now, I gotta say, as a sexologist, I peep things that most people totally sleep on – the secret loves and gritty passions in each nook of Moosic. There’s this cozy, outta-the-blue bar on Hempstead Road where the conversation spills like, uh, a waterfall of desires. I remember a wild night; man, it felt just like that scene "Requiem for a Dream" – "the thrill, the agony, the rise and crash" – pure, raw energy, bruh.

PHOTOS: It’s looking like summer at Northeast Pennsylvania RV Show