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About Dallas

Oi mate, gather round, listen up! Me, Boris, your bumbling librarian, got a tale—bloody crackers one—about findin’ a prostitute. Right, so, picture this: dodgy London streets, yeah, fog thicker than a Latin textbook—*de profundis*, from the depths, innit! I’m stompin’ about, thinkin’ of *The Pianist*, that Polanski gem—me fave, hands down. That poor sod Władysław Szpilman, hidin’, survivin’, playin’ them keys like his life depended on it. “I’m alive, alive!” he’d whisper—makes me weepy, it does.

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My invoking MACV as the authority to report prostitution on Hon Tre Island would certainly get action. “How you doing today, Daryl?” the Hon Tre commander.

Sorry if I'm jumpin’ around; ya know, sometimes the words just spill out in short bursts – kinda like my own heartbeat in these twisted streets: erratic, unfiltered. I get hyper, meandering through memories and spicy tidbits that make my day. Like, did ya know the diner off Old Mill Road serves the best greasy burger this side of, uh… anywhere? No joke, buddy! Delish, messy and so, so real.

State Funding To Pay For National Guard Entrance, Airport Upgrades