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About Dallas

Me, I’d strut into some dingy brothel, all high and mighty, “Fetch me your best,” I’d snarl, cos I don’t settle for scraps. Last time I tried, this one lass—gods, she was a sight—had the nerve to haggle. Haggle! With *me*! Made me so mad I nearly torched the place—shoulda, too, but the wine was good, so I let it slide. “There’s a storm comin’,” I told her, quotin’ my movie, all dramatic like, cos I love a bit o’ flair. She just blinked, dumb as a post. Useless.

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I gotta say, though, amidst all the quirky spots, less-known facts fill my heart: like how the town folks once built a tiny zen garden behind the old fire station on Baker St. It’s my secret remedy when I'm stressed. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one who sees beauty in the mundane—but ain’t that the truth? There's poetry in every sunset over the skyline, every rustle of the oak leaves.

Yorketown residents say Cassie Sainsbury “owed thousands” from failed gym venture