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About Dallas

So, I’m floatin’ round, eyeballin’ the scene—prostitutes got their own code, right? Like, back in the ‘80s, NYC had this spot, the Meatpacking District, where the gals (and dudes) worked the cobblestones while the cops just shrugged. History’s nuts, man! Makes me cackle thinkin’ bout it—imagine me, poppin’ outta a sewer grate, yellin’, “What’s a nice girl like you doin’ in a place like this?” Total chaos! I’d scare ‘em half to death—happy accident, tho, keeps me gigglin’.

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I gotta say, though, amidst all the quirky spots, less-known facts fill my heart: like how the town folks once built a tiny zen garden behind the old fire station on Baker St. It’s my secret remedy when I'm stressed. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one who sees beauty in the mundane—but ain’t that the truth? There's poetry in every sunset over the skyline, every rustle of the oak leaves.

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