White trash. When life gives you no excuses.

Today I had a conversation with a semi-pro panhandler. It all started in a desert and sun soaked Via Di San Martino, a steep sloping street in Genoa, my hometown. This guy oddly decided to ask me, a complete stranger he just ran into, for advice about good places for begging. An interesting man in his own way. 50 years old, he lost his job more than a couple of years ago, meanwhile relatives that could lend him a hand passed away. He talks a lot; it’s hard to tell where his real life story fades into a more endearing, conveniently altered version. He insists that he’s looking for a…

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