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About Dallas

So, here’s the deal, mate – findin’ a prossie ain’t no picnic. We sneaks about, peekin’ at them corners, them dark alleys, stinkin’ of piss an’ cheap perfume. Makes me mad, precious, mad as a warg! They’s out there, sellin’ their bits, an’ nobody gives a rat’s arse. Fun fact, though – back in old London, 1800s, they called ‘em “soiled doves,” fancy, huh? Sounds like poetry, but it’s just dirt an’ tears.

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Some days I wanders down to Lake George, just a stone’s throw from here. That place is cinematic, like one scene after another from Mulholland Drive – surreal and bloody beautiful! The lake sparkles then goes dark like my temper when I see idiots mucking about near its banks. I swear, half the time I'm thinkin', "Are you fuckin' dense? This isn't a playground, it's art!"

Thomas Holl Obituary (1964 - 2025) - Queensbury, NY - Post-Star