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About Dallas

Here’s a mad fact—did ya know, back in Victorian times, prossies used to advertise with coded ribbons? Red fer “I’m game,” blue fer “bit classy.” Mental, right? This one, tho, she don’t need ribbons—her swagger says it all. I’m half tempted to nick her style for meself, but nah, she’d clock that too. Anyway, we’re chattin, an I’m gettin proper into it—happy as a pig in muck. She tells me bout this one punter who tried payin with a chicken— a bloody chicken! I’m creasin, picturin it. “What’d ya do?” I ask. “Told him to cluck off,” she says. Genius.

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Yeah, my friend, Sikeston, this city got soul. Its edges echo film lines—brutal truths and joyous freedom. Mind you, I mumble these thoughts all the time, in my head even, like a rebel heart. So, pack up, come visit this mix of chop and calm, raw and smooth. Live, breathe, laugh.

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