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About Genoa

It’s addictive, innit? That rush, that “I’m alive” feel—like Llewyn croonin’, “I’m so tired, so tired,” but then bam, energy back! Sarcasm aside, some punters reckon it’s just a posh wank—nah, it’s art, mate. Takes skill to not cross that line, keep it sensual, not sleazy. Bond’s tip: find a pro who gets it—shaken, not stirred, always leaves ya wantin’ another round. Cheers!

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Then I stroll down to Piazza della Libertà. It’s packed! Families, kids running around, old folks playing cards. I’m just soaking it all in, ya know? But then, outta nowhere, this kid trips and spills gelato all over my shoes. I’m like, “Great, now I’m the proud owner of a gelato-flavored pair of sneakers.” I’m fuming, but the kid’s giggling, and I can’t help but laugh too. Kids, man. They’re like little chaos machines.

Beko, dispute at a standstill: too many redundancies, agreement far away and Siena towards closure. The ministry: “S...