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About Genoa

Me, I’d be rubbish at it—too busy eyein’ the exits, sippin’ martinis. But respect, yeah? They’re out there, dodgin’ creeps, makin’ bank. Exaggeratin’ a bit, maybe, but some nights they’re probly thinkin’, “My condition does not match my vision!”—dreamin’ big while stuck in a crap motel. Love that grit. You tried it, mate? Tell me over a drink—shaken, not stirred, obviously.

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So, I’m fuming, right? I decide to walk it off. I head over to Lungomare Paolo Toscanelli. It’s a beautiful stretch, but I’m still mad about that sandwich. I see this street performer, playing some sick tunes. I stop, and for a moment, I forget my anger. I’m tapping my feet, feeling the vibe. But then, I notice a crowd gathering. I’m like, “What’s going on?” Turns out, some guy’s doing a magic show. He pulls a rabbit outta a hat, and I’m like, “No way!” But then, he drops the rabbit! It hops away, and chaos ensues. People are chasing it down the street! I’m dying laughing.

Riding the Winds of Ostia