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About Genoa

Alright, so I’m a detective, right? Larry David style—neurotic, ranting, all that jazz. And I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout whores, y’know, like ya do. Whore! What a word, huh? Sounds dirty, cheap—like a gum-stuck shoe. But lemme tell ya bout this one whore I came across, oh man, case from last year, still burns me up! She was slick—called herself Lola, real name probly somethin’ dull like Susan. Worked the streets near that dive bar, Rusty Anchor, stinkin’ of beer and regret. Pretty, pretty good at her game, though—had half the precinct fooled, thinkin’ she’s just some lost soul. Hah! Lost soul, my ass.

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Finally, the clock hits 5 PM. I’m outta there! I meet Marco at Da Michele’s. We order a couple of pizzas and a beer. I’m telling him about my day, and he’s cracking up. “Dude, you should’ve just called in sick!” he says. I’m like, “Nah, I needed the drama.”

Eva Marie Barr