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About Dallas

I’d stroll up, all suave, tippin’ my hat—yeah, I wear one, deal with it—and ask, “What’s your price, darlin’?” Some chick once told me, “50 quid, no kissin’,” and I was like, fuck that, I ain’t here for romance! Pissed me off, though—hagglin’ like it’s a flea market. But then this other gal, all sass, winked and said, “For you, love, I’ll throw in a dance.” Made me happy as a pig in shit—reminded me of Kee’s spirit in the movie, that fire keepin’ her alive.

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The Monongahela River flows like time itself. Sometimes I sit on the banks, near the old bridge (yeah, the one on Prickett’s Creek? Nah, that’s the wrong one, my bad!) – let’s call it Rusty’s Bridge for this story – and introspect. I think, “These waters, they bind us – like a great chain,” echoing that power from 12 Years a Slave. “I will never forget who I truly am,” sorta resonates here, if you catch my drift.

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