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About Saitama

Now, findin a prostitute ain’t just point and pay—naw, it’s a head trip. You gotta read em, smell the desperation or the hustle. “Without love, what are we?” Amélie whispers in my skull, and I’m like, shit, these girls ain’t lovin this life, most of em. Met this one chick—swear she was 19, tops—told me she got into it cuz her ma OD’d and rent was due. Broke my damn heart, Clarice, but I ain’t no savior—jus a watcher. She had this tat, “hope,” all faded—ironic as hell, made me chuckle darkly.

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Then, I spot this old lady on the bench. She’s got this amazing hat, like something outta a fashion magazine. I’m thinking, “Wow, she’s got style.” But then she starts talking to me about her cat. I’m like, “Lady, I’m here to mourn, not hear about Mr. Whiskers.” But she’s sweet, so I listen.

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