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About Genoa

She’s like the hotel—fancy, but rotting. Wears these trashy heels, click-clack. Annoys the shit outta me. But, like, she’s clever—outsmarts everyone. Once saw her swipe a guy’s wallet. Smooth, man, smoother than sanded oak. “What is more gentlemanly than that?” she’d smirk. Total Wes Anderson twist, right? Quirky, fucked-up charm. I’d kill to see her in purple.

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Finally, I get my hands on some fresh tomatoes. They were so ripe, I could practically smell the summer. But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs by and knocks my tomatoes right outta my hands! They splat on the ground. I’m standing there, mouth agape, like, “Did that just happen?” The kid just giggles and runs off. I’m left with tomato juice on my shoes. Great.

In the Brescia countryside, there's a Japanese inn taking on traditional cuisine with sushi: Siseroshi