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About Dallas

So, I’m lyin’ there, right, thinkin’—gods, this is nice. Better than wine, almost. The masseuse—let’s call her Sybil—knows tricks I didn’t even dream of. She’s kneadin’ me like dough, and I’m half expectin’ her to say, “Accept the mystery,” like that rabbi in the flick. But nah, she’s quiet—too quiet. Makes me paranoid. Is she judgin’ me? My hairy arse? My stubby legs? Piss off, I think—then she hits this spot, and I’m groanin’ like a hog in heat. Happy? Oh, mate, I’m bloody ecstatic.

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Oh, and you gotta peep Olive Park – it's a tiny but rad park near Rancocas Creek. Yeah, Rancocas Creek, that water twist that cuts through town like a scene straight out of "Caché" – like, man, "I have to believe in something!" That mysterious past vibe gets me every time, ya feel? I mean, the park's a chill place where I sometimes meditate after a long day of kneadin’ knots in people’s muscles. Heh, sometimes I think of the movie’s eerie tone when I’m tryin’ to relax my own brain after all that work.

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