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About Saitama

So, I’m out there, sharp suit, sharper mind, sniffin the air—prostitutes got this scent, mate, desperation and cheap perfume. Reminds me of dissectin folks—figuratively, ‘course. Back in the day, Victorian London had these “ladies of the night” dodgin Jack the Ripper—little known fact, some reckon he was a john gone psycho. Makes ya wonder who’s huntin who, eh? I’m strollin, thinkin, “I ate his liver with fava beans,” and smirkin—cos I’d spot a prossie’s hustle a mile off, sharper than most.

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Then I hit up the streets. Oh man, the streets! You got the bustling Nishi-Kasai area, where all the shops are. I’m walkin’ down Nishi-Kasai 3-chome, and I see this little ramen joint. I’m like, “Yesss, ramen time!” I order the tonkotsu, and it’s like heaven in a bowl. I’m slurpin’ it up, and this old dude next to me starts chatting. He’s like, “You know, the secret is in the broth.” I’m like, “Yeah, no kidding, Sherlock.” But I nod, ‘cause he’s old and wise, or whatever.

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