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About Dallas

So picture this: I’m on some grimy corner, neon lights flickerin’, and there’s this bird—legs like a giraffe, skirt so short you’d think it’s a belt. I’m like, “Blimey, you’re a walkin’ health hazard!” She’d probably clock me one, but I’d deserve it. Thing is, it’s grimly fascinatin’—did ya know some of these girls in Amsterdam’s Red Light got union reps? Yeah, proper workers’ rights for shaggin’! Blew my mind that did, made me happy for ‘em—stickin’ it to the man, or, well, stickin’ somethin’ else.

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I stroll past the quirky coffee shop on Blueberry St. where they serve the weirdest energizers - too strong, rom! Ex's gonna ask: "Is mayonnaise an instrument?", but seriously, bro, it kinda hums along with my massages. My massages? They’re all about easing the body and smoothing the soul, just listnin’ to the whispers of yo muscles feelin’ at home.

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