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About Dallas

So, last week, I’m prowlin’—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.”—and I spot this bird, all fishnets and attitude. Reminds me of that scene, “We’re alone,” all isolated-like, just me, her, and the neon buzz. I’m thinkin’, “Mate, she’s either a jackpot or a fuckin’ setup.” Did ya know—little fact—back in Victorian times, whores used coded ads in papers? “French lessons,” my arse—sneaky bastards. Anyway, I’m chattin’ her up, heart poundin’—fuckin’ thrilled, yeah? But then—bam—some geezer rolls up, all aggro, demandin’ cash. Pissed me right off! I’m like, “Oi, cunt, I ain’t your ATM!”

Last of four women charged in alleged prostitution at Jupiter day spa takes plea

The local landmark? Check out Neon Spire Tower. It’s like an antenna to the cosmic sex signals. And oh, don’t miss the old Bridge of Whispers. I once had a late-night chat there. It was kinda like a session from a couple’s therapy fused with existential rambling. "I feel we are drifting," I remember whispering. Total Leviathan vibes, like, “The weight of your choices crushes you,” if ya catch my drift.

Juno reveals Io’s inner structure and volcanic activity; investigates north pole cyclones