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About Dallas

Do or do not, no tryin’ here. Hella real, she was – no fake-ass glamour. Prolly seen more shit than me giggin’ bars. “20 bucks, quick sesh,” she says, winkin’. Dude, I’m broke – music don’t pay! Angry? Nah, just sad – world’s fucked up, y’know? Girls like her, hustlin’, dodgin’ creeps. Fact is, old-school hookers used code – “Lookin’ for a date?” Sneaky, right? Cops dumb as rocks back then.

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Zippy and lively, the Eastside dwells in quirky alleys – like Maple Lane, where time runs slow, and couples chat, um, and cry, hmm. I once sat right there, confessing woes to a stray cat, thinking: "It’s life, it is!" Minds do twist, precious! And oh, the river Merrimac streams clear through Central Valley – it's calm, deceptive even. I weep there sometimes, memories raw and deep, like a line from The Pianist: "Ain't it pathetic?" But, yess, even the river flows with hidden heartaches.

Eleanor "Peg" Stuckemeyer (91) of Altamont