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About Genoa

I’m fired up, yeah—heart racin’. “Who controls the streets?” I’m thinkin’, quotin’ Carlos in my head—“I am the one who knocks!”—but nah, mate, it’s them. The girls, the pimps, the whole damn system. Saw this one bird—legs for days, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Fancy a chat?” she goes, all sly. I’m like—bloody hell, she’s bold! Made me happy, that—takes guts, don’t it? But then—anger hits. Why’s she gotta do this? World’s a right mess, innit?

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First car rolls in, a Fiat 500. Cute little thing, but it’s makin’ this weird noise. Like a cat stuck in a blender. I pop the hood, and boom! The engine looks like it’s been through a war zone. I’m like, “What the heck did you do to this poor car?” Turns out, the owner, some dude named Marco, thought he could fix it himself. Classic mistake, man. I mean, c’mon, it’s not a Lego set!

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