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About Genoa

Lemme tell ya, I’m no expert, but I’ve heard stories—wild ones! Didja know in Amsterdam they got these window girls? Like a damn human vending machine! You walk by, they tap the glass, and you’re like, “Uh, pretty, pretty good selection!” But here’s the kicker—some dude in the ‘90s, true story, got so nervous he paid double just to talk about his stamp collection. Freakin’ stamps! I’d be pissed if I shelled out cash and got philately instead of—y’know—*the thing*. Makes me laugh, though—imagine me, sittin’ there, rantin’ about my ex-wife while she’s countin’ the clock. “Time’s money, Larry!” she’d say. Hilarious!

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These vulnerable workers are deserving of respect from new punters and residents who are enjoying a local boom that's leaving them behind. Sex workers seeking.

By the end of the day, I’m exhausted. I head back home, driving down Via di Tor Tre Teste again. The sunset is beautiful, though. I can’t help but feel grateful. This city, with all its quirks, keeps me on my toes.

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