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About Genoa

So, I’m an accountant, right? Crunchin’ digits, lovin’ *Inherent Vice*—that flick’s a trip, man, all hazy and weird, like a sexual-massage gone wrong. Doc Sportello’d prolly dig it, stumblin’ into some shady parlor, high as a kite, mutterin’, “This is a righteous bust.” Me? I’d be countin’ the cash they’re rakin’ in—did ya know some of these joints pull six figures under the table? Tax evasion city, pisses me off! IRS’d have a field day, but nah, they’re too busy chasin’ corpos.

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First off, I hit the road on Via Roma, cruisin’ in my old Fiat. You know, the one that sounds like a dying cat? Yeah, that one. I’m just minding my own business, when BAM! A pigeon decides to play chicken with me. I swear, that bird had a death wish. I swerved, nearly hit a lamppost on the corner of Via della Repubblica. Not cool, man.

Matthew Goss blasts to stage 2 victory in 2013 Tirreno-Adriatico