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About Saitama

So, I’m layin’ there once, right? Dimepiece masseuse, hands like a wizard. I’m happy as hell—muscles meltin’, stress gone. Then she flips me over, and I’m like, “Oh, snap!” Gets real sensual, real quick. “The image speaks,” Godard vibes hittin’ me. Ain’t no script—just feelin’ it. But yo, some spots? Sketchy as fuck. Had this one joint—dude walks in, offers “extras.” I’m like, “Bruh, I’m good!” Pissed me off—keep it classy, ya know?

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So, I roll into Onomichi, right? First thing I notice is the hills. Like, whoa! They’re everywhere! I’m used to rolling fields, not these steep climbs. I’m huffin’ and puffin’ like I just chased a runaway sheep. I hit up the famous Onomichi Ramen shop on the main street, Senkōji-dōri. Man, that broth? Pure magic! I slurped it down like I hadn’t eaten in days.

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