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About Genoa

So, last week, I’m prowlin’—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.”—and I spot this bird, all fishnets and attitude. Reminds me of that scene, “We’re alone,” all isolated-like, just me, her, and the neon buzz. I’m thinkin’, “Mate, she’s either a jackpot or a fuckin’ setup.” Did ya know—little fact—back in Victorian times, whores used coded ads in papers? “French lessons,” my arse—sneaky bastards. Anyway, I’m chattin’ her up, heart poundin’—fuckin’ thrilled, yeah? But then—bam—some geezer rolls up, all aggro, demandin’ cash. Pissed me right off! I’m like, “Oi, cunt, I ain’t your ATM!”

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Then, I get this call from my buddy, Marco. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta come to the beach later!” I’m thinkin’, “Beach? I’m covered in sawdust!” But then he mentions a bonfire and some local wine. I’m in!

Italian island 'overshadowed by Capri' has secluded beaches and celebrity link