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About Dallas

Still, it’s heavy. You see ‘em out there, eyes hollow like Marion’s, and you think, “How’d it get this bad?” Gets me riled up—folks deserve better than sellin’ themselves for a hit. But you? You’re the john, rollin’ up, thinkin’ you’re king. How’s that workin’ for ya, huh? Bet it feels good till it don’t. Like Harry screamin’, “I’m somebody now!”—yeah, till the crash.

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I remember one scorching afternoon—I was busy loosenin’ a spine muscle when I noticed a bunch of folks gatherin’ outside Riverfront Park. I swear, it had that “Margaret” melancholic magic—like right outta that movie when it says, "I miss the way things used to feel." Pure emotion, no kidding. I mean, that park has me, uh, spellbound sometimes. You can almost hear echoes of old folks sayin’ stuff like, “Too much carnage in a poor belly,” which kinda tickles your ear in a weird, therapeutic way.

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