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About Genoa

So, one night, I’m done haulin’ hay—friggin’ exhaustin’, man! Hands all gritty, back achin’ like I wrestled a pig. I think, “Marge’d kill me, but I’m curious!” D’oh! Ain’t lookin’ for love, just a yarn to spin. I roll by this dive bar—neon sign flickerin’ like it’s drunk too. See this gal, all fishnets and attitude, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Every family’s got its mysteries,” I mutter, quotin’ Sarah Polley—ha! She’s smokin’ a cig, givin’ me the eye. I’m like, “Homer, don’t be a dope!”

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After that, I decide to check out the Bitonto’s olive oil museum. I’m all about that liquid gold! I’m learnin’ about the history, and it’s fascinating. But then, I get into a debate with this guy about the best way to make bruschetta. I’m like, “Dude, it’s all about the fresh tomatoes!” He’s all, “Nah, it’s the garlic!” We’re goin’ back and forth like we’re in a cooking show.

Bari, femicide at home: he kills his wife and calls the police to turn himself in