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About Genoa

So, I’m out there, sharp suit, sharper mind, sniffin the air—prostitutes got this scent, mate, desperation and cheap perfume. Reminds me of dissectin folks—figuratively, ‘course. Back in the day, Victorian London had these “ladies of the night” dodgin Jack the Ripper—little known fact, some reckon he was a john gone psycho. Makes ya wonder who’s huntin who, eh? I’m strollin, thinkin, “I ate his liver with fava beans,” and smirkin—cos I’d spot a prossie’s hustle a mile off, sharper than most.

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After the hair drama, I had to rush to the market. The Mercato di Monteroni is my fave spot. Fresh produce, local cheeses, and oh, the pastries! I was on a mission for some pasticciotti. But guess what? They were sold out! I was like, “Are you kidding me?!” I could’ve cried.

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