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About Genoa

Anyway, I’d limp in—cane and all—sneer, “You’re no cure for boredom.” She’d laugh, maybe—she’s heard worse. Humor’s my shield, y’know? Sarcasm drips— “Wow, you’re a real artist, huh?” Total House move. Movie vibes kick in— “I just feel so alone,” I’d mutter, half-jokin’. She’d shrug— “Me too, doc.” Connection? Maybe. Lies? Definitely. Everybody lies, even me—sayin’ I don’t care. Truth is, it’s messy, human, and kinda hilarious. Findin’ a prostitute—lost in translation, Russian style!

Day 1: Barcelona, Spain

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Next, I wander down to the marina. Boats everywhere! I love it. I’m daydreaming about sailing away when I bump into this old man. He’s got this wild beard and a twinkle in his eye. He starts telling me stories about Lerici. Apparently, it was a hangout for poets and writers. I’m like, “Wow, I’m basically in literary heaven!”

Expat tales: Little Italy