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About Genoa

So, I’m down the docks, yeah, salty air hittin me lungs, thinkin – where’s she at? Prossies round here, they’re ghosts, mate. Slip through yer fingers like wet fish. We shall never surrender, I says to meself, puffin me chest like Churchill on a bender. Found one once, right, near the old pier – Ruby, they called her. Cheeky lass, red lips, eyes sharp as a gutting knife. Little known fact – she’d hum sea shanties while workin, swear down! Made me laugh, that did – a prossie with a tune? Fancied meself Theo Faron for a sec, savin the world one shag at a time.

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By now, I’m starving. I hit up this little trattoria on Via Mazzini. The food? OMG. I order pasta, and it’s like a hug in a bowl. I’m slurping it down, and I can’t even. But then, the waiter spills water all over my lap. I’m like, “Really, man?!” But he’s super apologetic, and I can’t stay mad.

The Crash Of The Su-27 Flanker "14 Red" At Salgareda Air Show