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About Saitama

Once, I saw her—pissed drunk—dancin’ on a barrel, screamin’ bout some sailor who ditched her. Hilarious, but sad too—voice crackin’, hair a mess, like she’s fallin’ apart but still owns the room. Made me happy, seein’ her raw like that—none of that fake shit. Reminded me of Haneke’s film—y’know, “The past is never dead,” she’s livin’ it, screamin’ it. Fuckin’ real.

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So, I start mixing dough, and I’m in my zone. Flour everywhere, like a snowstorm hit. I’m humming some J-Pop, feeling good. Then, BOOM! The power goes out. Just my luck, right? I’m standing there in the dark, dough in hand, like a lost puppy. I’m cursing under my breath, thinking about how I’m gonna explain this to my regulars.

Hirakata Performing & Visual Arts Center / Nikken Sekkei