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About Dallas

So, findin’ one? Start in city, not forest, duh. Back alleys, neon buzzin’, smells like piss and desperation. Little fact—did ya know Moscow’s got secret brothels since Soviet days? Hidden, brutal, efficient—like me. I’m walkin’, boots hittin’ ground, thinkin’ “What’s the price?” Cash rules, always does. Girls standin’ there, eyes dead, like slaves in that movie—“You got no right!”—but they ain’t fightin’ back. Makes me mad, yeah? World’s cold, I made it colder.

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Living here’s a mixed bag. There’s a spot on Northeast Dr privy to some deep catharsis. Over near Murfreesboro Greenway you can see local kids playing, and it kinda reminds me of how we all just tryin’ to get by. The Stones River flows quietly by, whispering secrets as if it’s reciting lines straight from Hou Hsiao-hsien’s masterpiece. "Still, time has a way," it sorta says, echoing each drop of water.

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