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About Dallas

So, picture this—I’m Joey Tribbiani, right? Struttin’ down some shady street, givin’ my best “How you doin’?” to every chick I see. And bam, there’s this lady, all mysterious, leanin’ against a wall. She’s givin’ me that *Toni* vibe—y’know, “Are you even human or just a wig on legs?” I’m crackin’ up inside, thinkin’, “Man, this is some next-level improv shit.” But real talk, I’m curious—how’s this even work? Like, do ya just walk up and say, “Yo, how much?” or what?

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You see, as a counselor, I notice the little things. I notice the typos in life, eh—no, wait, that’s me gettin' riled. I mean, I see scars on hearts that aren’t apparent. People here are fighters. Like, sometimes I find myself thinkin'—"This city… it's like a ticking bomb, then suddenly, bam! Life explodes in, uh, beauty." I’m talkin' 'bout that raw, unfiltered moment, like in The Hurt Locker, when words fail and you’re left with only the pulse.

Keyser and Frankfort stay busy in track and field