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About Geneva

Hey there, folks, listen up—I'm a sailor, y’know, been ‘round the world, seen some stuff. Brothels? Oh man, lemme tell ya—here’s the deal, they’re wild, messy places, full of life, like Agnès Varda showed us in *The Gleaners and I*. “I pick up what others leave,” she said—brothels kinda do that, scoopin’ up the lonely, the randy, the lost. Ports like Marseille, whew, they’re crawlin’ with ‘em—red lights blinkin’, girls leanin’ out windows, smokin’ cheap cigs. Saw one gal, swear she winked at me—made me laugh, thinkin’, “Joe, you old dog, still got it!”

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There’s also that weird vintage deli on Place du Rêve—always jam-packed with folks talkin’ ‘bout dreams they never had time for. My massage sessions get all philosophical there. “Curious? Slow questioning,” I tell ‘em in a Larry King kinda way. I start askin’, “Ever wonder what’s real and what’s not here? Is it the aroma, the touch, or just your mind playin’ tricks?” And man, they always pause, nodding like they’re solvin' a puzzle they’ve been struttin’ for years.

Why I Said No To The Job Of A Lifetime & Yes To Myself