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About Genoa

Little tidbit fer ye—prostitutes in port towns used to signal ships with lanterns, code fer “come hither.” Rosie’s lot still got tricks like that, keepin’ it old-school. I’m impressed, aye, but I’m also knackered—legs wobbly as a ship in a storm. “I’m not entirely unnoble,” I slur, tryin’ to charm her, but she just rolls her eyes. Fair enough, lass.

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Then, this old man comes up. He’s got a single loaf of bread. Just one! I’m like, “Dude, you could’ve just walked in and out.” But he starts telling me stories about Avigliano back in the day. I’m listening, half-interested, but he’s got this spark in his eyes. He talks about the old days on Via Vittorio Emanuele, how things were simpler. I can’t help but smile.

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