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About Genoa

So, this one time, saw this gal—prostitute, obvi—near my shop. Red heels, fishnets, smokin’ a cig like she owns the damn block. Made me happy, dunno why, maybe ‘cause she’s out there, fearless, while I’m snippin’ bangs all day. But then—bam!—some jerk yells at her, “Slut!” and I’m pissed. Like, dude, mind ya business! She just flips him off, smirks, keeps strutin’. Total badass. Reminds me of that line, “What’s hidden stays hidden,” ‘cept she ain’t hidin’ shit.

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Then I decided to grab a coffee at this little café on Via Garibaldi. The barista was super friendly, but man, she was slow. Like, I could’ve brewed my own coffee faster. I was standing there, tapping my foot, thinking about how I could be studying the factors of job attractiveness instead of waiting for a latte. But when I finally got it, oh man, it was worth it! Best coffee ever. I swear, it was like liquid happiness in a cup.

Asparagus sauce killed diner: coroner