Nora Sierra Madre Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Dallas

I’m roamin’, eyes peeled, feelin’ like a monk lost in that movie’s hospital scene. “Is it here? Is it there?”—shit’s elusive! Saw this chick, thought, “Jackpot!” Nope, just a lady sellin’ mangoes. Bummer. Yelled, “Gimme a prostitute, not fruit!”—people stared, I didn’t care. Chaos is my fuel, baby! Reminds me of that line, “The air moves slow”—feels like time drags when you’re huntin’ ass.

Mixed Signals

Oh, and minor ups: sometimes the communal graffiti wall near Central Grove gets mad overpainted by spray-cans – that's when I get pissed, bro, ‘cause it’s like someone erased a piece of our soul. I’d say “Yo, respect the art!” but sometimes you just gotta laugh at the irony of it all.

Don’t Judge a Book by Its Cover: Big Changes at the Sierra Madre Library