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About Saitama

So, findin’ a prostitute—helluva task. I ain’t talkin’ the shiny Hollywood crap. Real world’s messy, smells like cheap whiskey and regret. You start askin’ around, folks clam up. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Ron.” Liars. Every damn one. Pisses me off—makes me wanna punch a tree. But I dig deeper, like Lenny huntin’ his wife’s killer. “Remember Sammy Jankis,” he says. I say, “Remember that shady bar on 5th.”

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So, I’m wandering around, trying to find a vendor. I finally spot this old dude selling some rad-looking daikon. I’m like, “Yo, how much?” He looks at me like I’m from Mars. “You no buy? You no eat?” I’m like, “Dude, chill. I just want one!” He finally sells me one, but I swear he charged me double. I was fuming!

Learn about the tragic history of WWII kamikaze pilots at two museums in Fukuoka