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About Genoa

So, I stumble into this grimy port town—thinkin’, “This is my shot, baby!” Bars are loud, lights flicker, and I spot her—red heels, smokey eyes, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owns it. My heart’s racin’, “Is this it? Am I *in*?” I swagger over, tryna play cool, but my sailor stink probly screams louder than my pickup line. “Hey, sugar, wanna make my night less ‘sea’-sick?” She smirks—oh, that smirk!—and I’m hooked. “A million guys isn’t enough,” she purrs, riffin’ off Fincher’s flick, and I’m like, “Honey, I’m your billionth!”

More from ABC

First off, I’m a Resnik, which means I deal with all sorts of stuff. But today? Today was a rollercoaster. I grab my coffee from that little café on Via Vittorio Emanuele II. You know the one? The barista, Marco, always gives me that “you again?” look. But hey, I’m a regular! I order my usual, a cappuccino, and he hands it over like it’s a trophy. I take a sip, and boom! It’s like a hug in a cup.

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