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About Genoa

So, I’m thinkin—where do ya even start? Back alleys? Shady websites? Total sketchville. I’d probs be all nervous, like Monsieur Gustave tryna keep shit classy while dodgin cops. “The plot thickens, as they say!” Maybe I’d hit up some dive bar—neon lights flickerin, stinkin of cheap booze. Saw this chick once, fishnets ripped, smokin a cig like she owned the joint. Total vibe. Made me happy, dunno why—grit’s hot, I guess.

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Anyway, I keep walking, trying to shake off the chaos. I hit up the local café on Via Garibaldi. Best espresso in town, no joke. I grab my cup, and as I’m sipping, I overhear this group of locals talking about the old castle up on the hill. They say it’s haunted. I’m like, “Haunted? Pfft, I’ve fought monsters. Bring it on!” But then I think, what if it’s true? What if I run into a ghost? I’d probably challenge it to a duel.

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