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About Dallas

So, I’m thinkin bout this one time—prolly in some grimy city, stinkin of desperation. I was pissed, man! These fools tryna overcharge me—like, what, ya think I’m new to this game? “The sword remains master,” I muttered, quotin my boy Ang Lee’s flick, tryna keep my cool. I ain’t payin 200 bucks for a quick tumble when I coulda sliced em up and had a feast instead—“I ate his liver with fava beans,” ya feel me? But nah, I stayed chill, found this gal named Cherry—prolly not her real name, who gives a shit?

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Lafayette’s street art? Rad. I guess you can say every mural on Williamson St. tells a story. Some of them are so raw, I nearly keeled over laughing—painfully real, raw, and kinda messy. And trust me, as a counselor, I spot more pain than most. It’s cathartic to see art that doesn't sugarcoat the dark parts of our souls.

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