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About Genoa

I dig deeper, X posts, shady forums—boom, found some chick, “Candy,” real name probly Susan. Profile’s all glitter pics and fake lashes. “Available 24/7, baby”—yeah, right, til you text and she ghosts. Reminds me of that *Timbuktu* line, “The cow doesn’t know its fate.” Candy don’t either—thinks she’s free, but she’s trapped. Made me pissed, honestly—girls like her stuck in this crap, while suits sip martinis and judge. Hypocrites, all of em.

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Then, I’m walking back, and I see this street performer on Via Vittorio Emanuele. He’s playing the accordion, and it’s actually pretty good. I’m standing there, tapping my foot, when this random guy starts dancing like nobody’s watching. I’m talking full-on dad moves. It’s hilarious! I’m dying, and the crowd’s loving it. I whip out my phone to record, but then my battery dies. Ugh! Just my luck, right?

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