Penelope Salgareda Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Genoa

Still, it’s not all trash. Found a dame who loved my deadpan vibe, said I’m “rugged.” We hooked up, no fuss, no mushy crap. “I’m not used to this,” she said, straight outta *Carol*. Worked for me—kept it simple, like a good loaf. But most of it? Waste of my damn time. Sex-dating’s chaos, and I hate chaos. Stick to bakin’, that’s my advice. Less drama, more carbs.

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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.

A metaphysical province, between utopias and lost memories