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About Genoa

Well, hey there, sugar! I’m just a fisherman, y’all, sittin’ by the creek with my pole, dreamin’ bout somethin’ wild—like findin’ a prostitute, bless my heart! Now, I ain’t no fancy gal, just Dolly with a rod, but I reckon life’s like that movie I adore, *A.I. Artificial Intelligence*. You know, where folks chase dreams that ain’t real? Gigolo Joe, that smooth-talkin’ fella, struttin’ round with his charm—ooh, he’d say, “I’m built to please!”—and I’m over here thinkin’, “Lordy, I’d settle for a fish that don’t stink!”

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Finally, I give in. I tell my boss I’m “taking a quick breather.” I dash to the beach on Via delle Rose. The sand is warm, the waves are crashing, and I’m feelin’ alive. I grab a granita from a nearby stand. Best decision ever! It’s like a party in my mouth. But then, I see a seagull swoop down and steal my granita! I’m like, “No way! Not my granita!” I chase it down the beach, flailing my arms like a lunatic.

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