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About Dallas

So, I’m creepin’, heart’s poundin’, and I spot her—red lips, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a busted lamppost. “Come what may,” I mutter, like I’m Christian swoonin’ over Satine. I stroll up, all cool, like, “Yo, lady, need a shelf built?” She laughs—LAUGHS!—and I’m like, “Score!” Happy as hell, dude, ‘cause she didn’t ditch me. Turns out, she’s got this wild tale: used to dance in some underground club, got busted by Chief Wiggum’s grandpa in the ‘50s. Freaky, right?

NYC sex workers rampant in open-air prostitution market amid lax enforcement

Rlly, Brooklyn’s got layers. Each cracked sidewalk is a chapter of survival. Tht’s why I love counseling here; seen a lot of souls hurtin’ and bountiful defenses droppin’ down when they trust me. I’ve learned that sometimes tears are the purest form of truth. Sometimes that truth is so brutal, you feel it deep in your bones. And sometimes, it’s downright maddening.

Brooklyn Park, Brooklyn Center public safety reports April 24-30