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About Genoa

I reckon you start online—X posts, coded ads. “Massage, wink wink”—fuckin obvious. Or hit the dives, smoky pubs where eyes linger too long. Reminds me, Clarice, of Mia’s mum screamin, “Get out, you little bitch!”—that chaos, that edge. You feel it when you’re close. Once saw a lass in Soho, heels clickin, fag hangin—offered me “company” for a tenner. Bargain, I thought—laughed my arse off. She glared, I bolted.

Travelling from Calabria to Messina

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So, I’m walking down to the beach, right? The waves were crashing, and I could smell the salty air. Roccella’s beach is stunning, man. The sand is soft, and the water? Crystal clear. I was ready to dive in. But then, I saw this group of kids playing soccer. They were good! Like, way better than I ever was.

PFM sings De André - Anniversary