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About Dallas

So. Picture. This. These. Folks. In. The. Biz. They’re. Hustlin’. Day. Night. Cash. Flows. Like. Champagne. At. A. Wes. Anderson. Party. I’ve. Seen. Some. Escorts. Man. They’re. Artists. True. Pros. One. Time. I. Heard. This. Story. This. Chick. In. Vegas. She’d. Memorize. Clients’. Favorite. Drinks. Little. Known. Fact! She’d. Roll. Up. Like. “I. Wrote. You. A. Letter.” Boom. Instant. Loyalty. Smart. As. Hell. Got. Me. Happy. Thinking. About. It.

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Just mile beyond the campground, as the road crosses a flat, and to the east, is Whorehouse Meadows. The meadows are privately owned. Traditionally, the.

Man, I'm telling ya, the streets weave a story. There’s Elm Street – yeah, that one – where the old-school diners and those popup art shows collide. I’ve seen dates turn into impromptu poetry recitals on a park bench there (crazy, right?). And oh, Spalding Park is my spot. It's where you can be contemplative or just mad ‘coz some folks walked their dogs like they’re starring in some low-budget rom-com. I can see Russia from my house! …Kidding… sorta.

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