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About Genoa

*“Lord, forgive us,”* like Ida’d whisper, but this bird, she don’t pray – she survives. Caught her nickin’ a sandwich from a bin – “Gotta eat, Oz!” she grinned, all cheeky. Surprised me, that grit, proper gobsmacked. Reminds me of Ida’s silence, that quiet strength, but with a filthy laugh and a “sod off” for coppers. *Mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!”* She’s a riot, swear down, once kicked a geezer’s shin for hagglin’ – “I ain’t a bleedin’ car boot sale!”

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Next, we swing by the old market on Via Cavour. Man, the smells! Fresh bread, fish, and that weird cheese that smells like feet. I’m starving, but no time to eat. Marco’s gotta focus. But then, he spots a gelato stand. “Can we stop?” he asks. I’m like, “Dude, you’re driving, not on vacation!”

Davide Marchini's Progress Challenges Ravenna to End the Season in Style