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About Dallas

I’m picturin’ it now—shady streets, neon buzzin’. You’re dodgin’ creeps, thinkin’, “Is this chick for real?” Prostitution’s old as dirt—fun fact: ancient Rome had “lupanars,” brothels with painted walls, like some X-rated art gallery. Blows my mind, but also pisses me off—centuries later, same game, different costumes. Everybody lies, though—client, hooker, even the damn pimp. “You’re my prince,” she purrs. Yeah, right, and I’m freakin’ Santa Claus.

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We send Chris and Peter into the fray as we find a cool spot in which to relax. About ten minutes later they return with our tickets. I think Chris wants to.

Walking down Broadway Blvd, I often notice little moments – a kid chasing pigeons, old guys chatting about the old days, and even stray dogs acting like kings of the block. Makes me smile, really. Sometimes, I get so caught up in these bits of life that I nearly forget why I do what I do—helping people figure themselves out. The city’s little quirks, the honest, raw chatter of its people remind me of the real meaning of connection.

Police identify suspect in Moorhead murder, search continues