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About Genoa

We’re chattin’, and I’m thinkin’ *Boyhood* again—“It’s always right now,” y’know? This moment, her laugh, the cig smoke curlin’—it’s real, raw, fuckin’ alive. But then—bam!—some wanker in a beat-up Jag rolls up, yellin’ at her. Ex-pimp or some shit. I’m pissed, mate—nobody fucks with my night. I step in, all cool, “Oi, mate, piss off or I’ll rearrange ya.” He bolts, tires screechin’. She’s laughin’, says, “You’re mad, you are!” Happy as a pig in shit, me—saved the day, Bond-style.

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Finally, it wraps up, and I’m free! I step outside, and the sun hits me like a warm hug. I decide to take a stroll down Via Cavour. The shops are cute, and I spot this little boutique. I go in, and the owner is super friendly. We start chatting about the best gelato spots in town. She swears by Gelateria Da Michele, and I’m like, “I need to check that out!”

Figure 4. Frieze from the Room 19 of the Villa at Boscotrecase, north...