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About Dallas

Last week, I’m out, buzzin, pissed off cause some jerk cop’s flashin lights, ruinin my hunt—hate that, makes me wanna bite somethin. Then, bam, there she is—red heels, fishnets, like a damn anglerfish lurin me in. “How much?” I ask, all smooth, voice like silk over a blade. She smirks, “More than you got, fancy pants.” Cheeky! Love that, got me laughin—happy as a shark in blood. “I’m not a child,” she snaps, straight outta “Ten,” that sass, that fire—surprised me, gotta say, didn’t expect a street gal to hit me with philosophy.

Sex and Mr Gladstone.

First off, you'll hit Main St., where old brick shops mix with newfangled pizza joints. I swear, walking down Oak Avenue, you feel like you're in a movie scene – almost hear the wind whisper, “I don't want to go gentle into that good night.” And oh, don’t be fooled by the neat sidewalks; I once saw a runaway roller skate near 5th and Elm, a sight that made me laugh and mad at the same time.

Jaguars Draft Strategy Predictions: Insights From James Gladstone's Impact in LA