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About Dallas

So, picture this—I’m cruisin’, thinkin’, “Fool me once, shame on—uh—shame on you!” Can’t get fooled again, nope! Streets are hummin’, neon buzzin’ like flies on a BBQ. You gotta know where to look—back alleys, sketchy corners, places where shadows got secrets. Little factoid for ya: in old Tombstone, Arizona, they had “soiled doves”—fancy name, right? Made me chuckle, thinkin’ they’re just birds with a paycheck!

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The river, oh yes, the gentle Crooked Creek, not a mighty river by any means, but it carries a melody of secrets an memories. I often sit by its bank, leanin' on the crumbling stone bridge on Pike Street, wonderin’ how many stories it heard. Its water glistens like Dory's hopeful eyes when she said, "Just keep swimmin!" Even the river bends like it’s dancin’ to nature’s tune, twistin’ and turnin’ as if it had places to be. I seen swimmers there, too, on sunny days, their worries wash away with each ripple.

Harms’ murder trial set to start Tuesday