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About Genoa

Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals. I’m Ron Swanson, hate everything, ‘specially frilly nonsense. Brothels? Man, they’re a mixed bag o’ hell. Been thinkin’ bout ‘em since I saw *Tropical Malady*—that flick’s my jam, all weird jungle vibes and sweaty tension. “The sound of the forest,” like them workin’ girls chattin’ up drunks, fills the air with somethin’ raw. I ain’t judgin’, just observin’—men stumble in, wallets out, lookin’ for a quick fix. Disgustin’, but honest. Hate the fakers more.

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Finally, I grab some tomatoes and a loaf of bread. But then, outta nowhere, I see this street performer on the corner of Via Garibaldi. He’s playin’ the accordion like he’s in a movie or somethin’. I’m vibin’ hard, and I toss him a couple of euros. He gives me a nod, and I’m feelin’ like a rockstar for a sec.

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