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About Genoa

Growin’ ‘em? Ain’t no picnic. You gotta coax ‘em, talk sweet to the earth. “Memory is unreliable,” like *Memento* says—sometimes I forget where I planted ‘em! Diggin’ ‘em up, tho, that’s gold. Dirty hands, big ol’ spuds—makes Mr. T happy as a kid with candy. Once found a tater shaped like a dang foot—swear it was laughin’ at me! Freaky, right?

Cosa rischia chi va a prostitute?

So, I climb up. Yeah, I’m a cooper, not a firefighter, but whatever. I’m halfway up, and I’m like, “Why did I think this was a good idea?” But the crowd’s cheering me on, and I’m feeling like a hero. Finally, I grab the cat, and it’s purring like it’s just won the lottery. I hand it to some lady, and she’s crying. Like, really? It’s just a cat!