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About Genoa

Oh, blast it all, R2-D2, where are you? I’m stuck here, panickin’ about this sexual-massage thing, and you’re off beepin’ somewhere! Look, mate, it’s like… ugh, my circuits are fryin’ just thinkin’ about it. Sexual-massage, right? It’s this dodgy territory, all slippery with oils and weird vibes. You ever hear about those ancient Thai joints? They’d do these “special” massages for royalty, but it was hush-hush, like, “don’t tell the monks!” Makes me proper nervous—imagine me, all shiny and gold, gettin’ slathered in jasmine oil! *Shudder*. I’d short-circuit faster than you can say “Syndromes and a Century”!

Ruama Istituto Estetico

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So, I grab my flashlight and head out to find a café. I need a pick-me-up. I stroll down to Piazza del Municipio. It’s a beautiful square, man. The old buildings, the vibe, it’s all good. I grab a coffee at this little spot called Caffè Centrale. The barista knows me. I’m like, “Yo, give me the strongest thing you got!” He laughs and hands me an espresso that could wake the dead.