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About Saitama

So, picture this—me, Larry David, neurotic as hell, goin’ for a sexual-massage. I walk in, and I’m like, “What’s this gonna be? Some kinda ‘25th Hour’ situation?” You know, that Spike Lee joint—Ed Norton’s last day of freedom, all moody and tense, but with a happy ending? That’s the vibe I’m hopin’ for! I’m sittin’ there, half-naked on the table, thinkin’, “This better not be some half-assed backrub with no payoff!” I’m paranoid, right? What if the masseuse is judgin’ me? “Look at this schmuck, wants his shoulders AND his—well, you know—kneaded!”

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I hit up the station, and it’s packed. Like, where are all these people coming from? I mean, it’s not like we’re in Tokyo or something. But hey, I love the vibe. Everyone’s hustling, grabbing their morning coffee from that little shop near the station. I swear, they make the best matcha lattes.

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