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About Genoa

Oi, precious, listen up! We swears! Findin’ a prossie ain’t no picnic, nah. Me, a charcoal burner, all sooty, stinkin’—who’d want that? But we needs it, don’t we, eh? Saw this one gal, right, by the docks—fishy smell, not just her job! Reminds me o’ “A Separation,” y’know? That flick—messy lives, secrets spillin’ like guts. “The truth doesn’t matter,” they said in it—hah! Same with prossies, mate. You don’t ask, they don’t tell.

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First off, I hit up Via Roma for my morning coffee. You know, the usual spot. The barista, Marco, he’s a legend. But today? He spills my cappuccino all over the counter. I’m like, “Dude, what’s the deal?” He just laughs and says, “More foam for you!” Ugh, thanks, Marco. I needed that.

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