Chapter 18: Unlicensed Therapists, Part 1

"Your unlicensed therapists."

The billboard on I-35 promised compassionate listening from scantily-clad women. This portal into the strip-club corridor of Dallas reminded men that there were women waiting to listen to anything you had to say…for a fee of course. Most guys who came to the strip club weren't perverts, sex-obsessed, or total misogynists; they were just lonely or needed a stranger to talk to. In that way, strip clubs are like confessionals: no one is going to judge you, because who are we to judge in a place like this? Most, granted, didn't talk about their problems or issues in the club, because it was a way to escape them, not face them.

However, there was one guy who had no qualms talking about his troubles; turns out, he gave me some free advice which would ultimately take me deeper into the rabbit hole. David came in toward the evening, around 5 or 6, looking to drink, avoid traffic, and look at pretty women. I approached him.

"Hi! My name is Rose." I reached out