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About Genoa

Drives me nuts tho—people forget ‘em now. All about Teslas, bleh, gimme that old-school vibe! Great Scott, once saw a rusty one, felt like “Anger” flarin’ up—why let it rot? Owned one meself—blue, beat-up, leaked oil like crazy. Called her Riley, heh, after the movie kid. “Fear” hit hard when the brakes squeaked—thought I’d crash, but nah, she held up. Quirky lil’ beast—horn sounded like a dying duck, quack quack, hilarious!

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But then, the day takes a turn. I’m walking back home, and I see this commotion on Via Vittorio Emanuele. There’s a stray dog, poor thing, looking lost and scared. My heart breaks. I can’t just leave it there. So, I approach it slowly, and it starts wagging its tail. I’m like, “Aww, come here, buddy.” I end up spending an hour trying to coax it out from under a car. Finally, I get it to come out, and it’s the sweetest thing ever. I name it “Pasta.”

Earthquake at Campi Flegrei: Fear in Naples, Collapses in Pozzuoli