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About Genoa

Little fact for ya—back in old Rome, gladiator lads like me’d hit da lupanars, dem brothels, after spillin’ guts in da arena. Prostitues—prostitutes, bah!—they’d wait, knowin’ we’re all riled up. History’s dirty, mate, love dat grit! Dis one gal, she surprised me—knew my fights, said, “Saw ya kill dat Thracian!” Made me happy, puffed me chest out, ya? “Lightbulb!”—she’s playin’ me, but who cares? Felt like a king.

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Then, I bump into my buddy Marco. He’s always got some wild story. Today, he’s telling me about this time he got lost in the mountains near Bonate-Sopra. I’m like, “Dude, how do you get lost in your own backyard?” He just shrugs and laughs. Classic Marco.

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