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About Genoa

Now, in *Timbuktu*, there’s this line—“The cow doesn’t judge the grass.” Hits me every damn time. Tammy out there, she ain’t judgin’ nobody, just grazin’ where she can. How’s that workin’ for her? Prob’ly shitty, let’s be real. She’s dodgin’ cops, creeps, and STDs like it’s a damn obstacle course. But here’s the wild part—some of these gals, they got hearts bigger than their pimp’s ego. I heard ‘bout one in Vegas, saved up her trick money to get her kid braces. Braces, y’all! Tell me that ain’t some Mama Bear shit right there. Got me smilin’ like a fool, thinkin’ ‘bout that.

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But then, I get sidetracked. I hear this commotion down Via Garibaldi. I’m nosy, so I go check it out. Turns out, there’s a street performer doing some wild juggling act. He’s tossing flaming torches in the air, and I’m like, “Is this guy for real?” I’m half-expecting him to set himself on fire. But nah, he’s a pro. The crowd’s loving it, and I’m just standing there, mouth agape.

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