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About Genoa

But here’s what bugs me—why’s it gotta be so secretive? Like, I’m whisperin’ ‘bout it now! Society’s all judgy, like I’m confessin’ to arson. I’m like, “I don’t know who I am!”—straight outta *Memento*, ‘cause I’m questionin’ my whole life after one session. Felt good, though—muscles loose, mind blown, like I fought a fire and won. But the typos in my brain? I’m thinkin’ “massage” but writin’ “messgae”—ugh, my fingers betray me! And the oil? Slippery as hell! Nearly slid off the table, like, “Who’s got the facts here?”—another *Memento* vibe, chasin’ truth in a haze.

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There’s this huge crowd, and I’m trying to squeeze through with my sheep. People are laughing, kids are running around, and I’m just trying to keep my flock in line. Then, outta nowhere, one of my sheep decides to take a detour. It bolts right into the dunk tank! I’m standing there, mouth agape, while everyone’s cracking up. I’m like, “Seriously? This is my life?”

Volleyball Grosseto defeated in the fifth set, salvation in the balance on the last day