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About Genoa

Alright, so I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’—prostitutes, right? I mean, what’s the deal?! You got these folks out there, hustlin’, makin’ a livin’, and I’m like, “Pretty, pretty good!”—but also, what a mess! Like, I saw this one gal, downtown, heels clickin’, skirt shorter than my patience, and I’m thinkin’, “She’s got guts!”—way more than me, sittin’ here sippin’ coffee, neurotic as hell. And then—boom—Goodbye to Language hits me, that Godard flick, y’know? “The image is a prison!” he says, and I’m like, “Ain’t that her life?!” Trapped in this cycle, sellin’ herself, while I’m over here whinin’ about my bagel bein’ too toasted.

Sfruttamento di prostitute: arrestato figlio di un comandante dei vigili

After the lights flicker back on, I’m back to pouring drinks. But then, this lady comes in, and she’s furious. Apparently, her husband forgot their anniversary. I mean, dude, how do you forget that? She’s ranting about it, and I’m just nodding, trying not to laugh. I pour her a double shot of something strong. “Here, this’ll help,” I say. She downs it and suddenly, she’s all smiles.

Murder in Corbetta (Milan): wife stabs husband to death and then kills herself