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About Genoa

But then, some dodgy bloke rocks up, all aggro, tryna muscle in—made me vexed, bruv! I’m like, “Mate, chill, I ain’t here for beef!” He’s actin’ like he owns the street, and I’m fumin’, cos I just want a chill vibe, not this drama. “Is it ’cos I is black?” I shout, half-jokin’, half-pissed, and he legs it—coward! Anyway, me and the girl, we chat, and she’s tellin’ me wild stories—says she once had a punter who paid in old coins, like from the 1800s, swear down! I’m gobsmacked, thinkin’, “What past life was that geezer from?”

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The last train leaves for Venice at , so I didn't get a chance to evaluate the nightlife. Feltre has been around since at least Roman times.

As the day winds down, I’m walking back through the streets. Feltre’s lit up, and it’s beautiful. I pass by the old clock tower, and it hits me—this place is my home. I love the chaos, the people, the quirks.

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