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About Saitama

Once saw this lass, right, fishnets ripped, smokin’ a cig like she owned the night. Made me laugh—ha! “We needs it, precious!” I thinks. But nah, it’s grim—dudes leerin’, all sweaty, made me mad as hell. Why’s it gotta be so skeevy? Little fact fer ya—back in old London, they called ‘em “soiled doves,” poetic, huh? Sounds nicer than it is! We hates it—filthy coins changin’ hands, like some stinkin’ goblin trade.

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So, I hit up the local café on Kōen-dōri. Best coffee ever! I mean, I’m no connoisseur, but this stuff was like liquid happiness. I’m sipping my brew, and suddenly, this cat jumps on my table. Like, dude, personal space? I’m not a cat person, but this little furball had some serious attitude. It just stared at me like, “What’s up, human?” I laughed, and the barista, this cool dude named Hiro, just chuckled. He said the cat’s name is Taka. How fitting, right?

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