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About Genoa

I’m laid back, smokin’, picturin’ it—dim lights, slow jams, hands workin’ magic. “It’s not my fault!”—another *Margaret* gem, ‘cause, shit, you ain’t to blame for lovin’ this. Ever tried it with a partner? Game changer, fo’ shizzle. Me, I’m clumsy, oil everywhere, laughin’ my ass off—slipped once, nearly broke my damn neck! Funny as hell, but sexy too, ya feel me? Pro tip: warm the oil first, cold hands kill the mood, trust.

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So, I get to my workshop, right? It’s on Via Vittorio Emanuele. I’m ready to get my hands dirty. But guess what? My tools are missing! Like, who steals a cooper’s tools? I’m fuming! I mean, I can’t make barrels without my tools. It’s like a chef without a knife. I’m pacing around, thinking about who could’ve done it. Maybe it was that guy from the bakery? Nah, he’s too busy making pastries.

How Italy is preparing for Carnival