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About Genoa

Where I’m at, corn’s taller than the girls. Ain’t no red-light district, just cows and silos. Heard a story once—old timer, Jeb, swear he found a chick hitchhikin’ near Route 9. Said she was “workin’ the harvest crew.” Fifty bucks, quick job behind the barn. Freaky, right? Made me laugh—fuckin’ legend, that Jeb. “Sell me this pen,” Belfort’d say, but out here it’s, “Sell me some tail.”

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Full details regarding maps of the university area in north Oxford, and details and timetables of air, rail, road/coach and park and ride connections.

After that, I’m feeling pumped. We head back, and guess what? The lathe finally arrives! But it’s all messed up. I mean, how do you screw up a delivery? It’s like ordering a pizza and getting a salad. I’m fuming! I can’t even.