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About Genoa

So, last week, I’m cruisin’ downtown, feelin’ like a stud—how you doin’? —and I see this chick, leather skirt, smokin’ a cig like she owns the block. I’m thinkin’, “Joey, don’t be a schmuck, say somethin’ smooth.” But nah, I just stare, cause I’m an idiot. She winks, I’m hooked—bam! Turns out, she’s been workin’ that corner since the 90s, a freakin’ legend. Little known fact: some of these girls got nicknames—like, she’s “Cinnamon” cause she once threw a spice jar at a rude john. Hilarious, right?

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First stop? The market on Piazza Duomo. It’s buzzing, like a beehive on caffeine. I grab a sfincione—best street food ever, no cap. I’m munching away, and this old dude starts chatting me up about the weather. I’m like, “Bro, it’s Sicily. It’s always sunny!” But he’s going on about how it’s been too hot lately. I’m thinking, “Dude, you live in paradise. Stop complaining!”

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