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About Genoa

Alright, listen up, I’m a carpenter, right? Been hammerin’ nails all damn day, sweat drippin’, hands rough as hell. So, I’m thinkin’ ‘bout findin’ a prostitute—don’t judge me, I’m stressed! “Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s rainin’,” I say to myself, ‘cause I ain’t dumb. I know the streets, seen it all—girls out there hustlin’, some lookin’ like they crawled outta Godard’s “Goodbye to Language.” You ever see that flick? Messed up, artsy, colors bleedin’—like my brain tryna figure this out.

Hotel Oriente

While I’m picking up plastic, I overhear this couple arguing. They’re going at it, like, “You never listen!” and “I can’t believe you did that!” Classic, right? I’m just there, trying to focus on the trash, but it’s like a soap opera. I’m low-key rooting for the guy. He seemed nice.

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