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About Dallas

Then—plot twist—she starts talkin’ bout her day, like we’re pals! Says some creep stiffed her last night, no tip, nothin’. I’m ragin’ for her, like, “Fuck that guy!” Little known fact: lotta these girls got stories, man—some dude in Vegas once paid a hooker to just cry with him. Weird, right? I’m over here, chaotic as fuck, screamin’ in my head, “This is art, this is life!” She’s smirkin’ at me, probs thinkin’ I’m nuts. I ask her name—says it’s “Candy,” and I’m like, “That’s fake as hell, I love it!” *Certified Copy* vibes again—“The copy’s as good as the original,” ya know?

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Man, sometimes I get so mad at the traffic on Oak Street – it’s like, "Anger!" But then I chill at Sacajawea Park – relaxing! Classic irony sometimes, you know? I scroll the dating app – matching cool peeps – and then strike conversation: "Hey, ever seen the river sunset at McCaw?" It flips your feel, truly.

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