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About Dallas

So, sex escorts—man, it’s a trip! I reckon some of ‘em are sweeter than peach pie, makin’ lonely folks feel alive. Others? Shady as a backwoods deal. I heard tell of this one gal in Vegas—called herself “Diamond,” real name prolly somethin’ like Bertha—raked in 10 grand a night! Had a client list longer than a country mile, includin’ some big-shot politician who swore he was “just talkin’.” Yeah, right, buddy, and I’m the Queen of England! Made me laugh ‘til I near choked on my gum.

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I’m not gonna lie, sometimes I get mad at the slow pace of things, but then a random alley, a sneaky mural, or the echo of an old blues riff near the marina reminds me why this city’s a gem. And just like in "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon," there’s always mystery lurking in every shadow and light glinting on water. “A sword's arm may be long,” one of those epic lines rings in my head as I pace the pier, thinkin’ ‘bout hidden truths in every crevice of Beaufort.

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