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About Dallas

So, here’s the deal—prostitution’s old as dirt. Like, ancient Rome had brothels called *lupanars*, nasty spots with graffiti sayin’ “I banged Livia here.” True story, look it up! I’m picturin’ this chick, let’s call her Tanya, she’s got that hustle. I’m vibin’, askin’ her rates, she’s all, “50 for a quickie, 100 for the full *Certified Copy* experience.” I’m dyin’, screamin’, “You know Kiarostami?!” She don’t, but I’m losin’ it anyway.

The struggle to take down 'storefront brothels'

It, too, was named the Palace Hotel, better nicknamed the Palace of Sweets, as it operated as both a hotel and a brothel. Today, the current.

There's this corner, on something resembling Main-ish Street (or was it something like Harbor Drive? Ah, details, details!) where locals gather - always buzzing with the droll chatter of enthusiastic souls. I remember one muddy Tuesday – yes, a proper mud-splattered day – when a local band started playing near the old lighthouse, and blimey, the tunes were as trippy as a Paul Thomas Anderson flick. "Fugazi!" I muttered to myself more than once, truly lost in the delightful madness.

Thousands still without power Tuesday night in hard-hit Kitsap Peninsula