Wandering America: My kill threshold is far ahead

Having made up his mind, Ma Jie stuffed the remaining donuts into his mouth, puffed out his cheeks, and walked out.

I just checked on Google and found a small scrap metal recycling station nearby; it's not far to walk there.

Before selling the shoes, clean out those two white leather jars you picked up.

The key point is that it was picked up, not stolen; there's no doubt that I picked it up.

When we arrived at the location, wow, it was described as small, but at a glance it was at least a thousand square meters.

Plastic bottles, aluminum cans, paper products, and other miscellaneous items were neatly categorized and piled up into small mountains.

I glanced at the electronic sign next to the weighing machine; the recycling price was clearly displayed.

Aluminum cans, $1.65 per pound.

Clear plastic bottles, $1.32 per pound.

Glass bottles, $0.03 per pound.

Waste cardboard, $0.04 per pound. ($0.06 after self-flattening and bundling)

Despite it being a weekday afternoon, the yard of the recycling station was anything but deserted.

Most of them are scavengers who frequent the poor streets, pushing supermarket shopping carts and carrying large and small bags, coming to exchange wild resources for money.

Although most of them are eligible for unemployment benefits and food stamps, only a very small minority choose to give up.

Don't assume that all homeless people are criminals or drug addicts; some of them are people who have gone bankrupt due to accidents.

Before arriving in the poor streets, these people were likely students, lawyers, businessmen, veterans, or even had able-bodied children and families.

However, due to various reasons, he could not go home and could only live a life of hardship on the streets.

But that's America—you can step into heaven one step at a time, or you can step into hell the other.

While waiting in line to be weighed, a painted Ford F-150 Raptor pickup truck suddenly drove in from outside. The truck bed was bulging with extra-large plastic bags.

The car drove straight past the queue of people and all the way to the weighing machine. Several shady-looking black men jumped out of the car.

They wore hip-hop outfits and baggy pants in different colors, and the huge gold chains around their necks were thicker than dog leashes.

Their hair was uniformly wrapped in bandanas with a flame pattern, matching the flame paint scheme on the pickup truck.

Just as Ma Jie was wondering, he saw one of the people nimbly jump onto the car, pick up a plastic bag, and hand it to the people below.

After catching it, the man rudely kicked away the woven bag waiting to be calculated on the weighing scale, and the can rolled all over the ground with a clatter.

"Hey buddy, what are you doing?" The cargo owner was immediately enraged: "Didn't you see I was here first?"

"YO, turn up the volume so I can hear you scream. Don't act like a bitch, all you ever think about is getting fucked."

Instead of explaining, the black man waved his hands and began to sing "The Rat Comes to Live".

Upon hearing this, the other companions burst into mocking laughter.

"You son of a bitch!" The homeless man, embarrassed by being tricked, tried to kick away the other man's things as well.

But the staff stopped him first: "No, no, no, don't be angry, bro. I'll consider it as you've been weighed. Here's your receipt. Take it and go get your money. It'll be more than you could have originally received."

After receiving the acceptance slip, the cargo owner glanced at the amount on it before reluctantly turning around and leaving to go to the cash-out window next door.

"Hi, Kelsen, long time no see." The staff member greeted him warmly, then smiled and said, "It's nice to see you, but could you please not treat my customers so rudely next time? After all, I'm just an employee. If the boss blames me, I'll be the one who gets yelled at."

"Haha, sorry buddy." The man acted as if nothing had happened: "I was just released on bail this morning. The parole officer in charge of supervising me was a middle-aged woman in her fifties who didn't have a husband. She kept lecturing me, telling me over and over again what I couldn't do. You know what I was thinking? I wanted to stuff all the jars that were confiscated today into her body. That damn old bitch that even a dog wouldn't fuck, ruined my good mood for the whole day."

Listening to his filthy and vicious personal attacks, the staff could only shake their heads helplessly and prioritize processing the goods delivered by these "VIP customers".

It wasn't until this point that Ma Jie realized that this guy was also a scavenger.

Then I looked at that pickup truck, which cost about $6 upfront, and my worldview was completely shattered.

"Hey, Asian boy, you're new here, right?" Seeing the incredulous look on his face, an older Black man waiting in line nearby chimed in, "I've been hanging around Skid Row for years and I've never seen you before."

Ma Jie smiled but didn't say anything. He remembered Valentina's advice to him: not to talk to strangers casually.

But this black man was a natural chatterbox, the kind who couldn't stand not talking, so he started talking to himself: "That scene just now scared you, didn't it? You'll get used to it. They're from AKA Hellfire, they've taken over most of Skid Row. Poor people like us can only rely on luck to pick up scraps to eat."

"Speaking of which, I quite miss the time when the blue-haired squad was around. Max was greedy too, but at least he wouldn't go to extremes."

"How many cans can you collect in a day? Judging from this bag, it weighs at least ten pounds. It must have been stored for a long time, right?"

Ma Jie listened intently, mentioning the Blue Hair Squad, the Blood Gang, and AKA Hellfire...

In just one day, he had learned about three forces. It seems that being a homeless person is definitely not as easy as he thought.

The drop rates in high-level jungle areas may very well overturn everyone's perceptions.

"Thanks, buddy, your reminder was very helpful. But it's your turn to be weighed now."

Ma Jie pointed ahead to where Lao Hei had placed several woven bags open on the weighing scale. After seeing the weight, he sighed helplessly, clearly dissatisfied with his harvest.

After the staff finished issuing the ticket, Ma Jie followed his steps, placing the plastic bag on top and leaving it open as well.

Looking at the mess of bottles and jars inside, the staff member immediately became unhappy: "Hey buddy, didn't anyone tell you that you should sort them before weighing? How am I supposed to calculate the price for you if you mix aluminum cans and plastic bottles together?"

"What should we do then?" Ma Jieke realized that he had indeed forgotten this crucial step.

After all, these things are strictly speaking spoils of war, not things he picked up one by one from the trash can.

"Two options," the staff member said indifferently. "One is for you to sort the items yourself and then queue up again. The other is for me to buy them back at an average price of $1.45. I'll definitely lose a little more than if you sort them yourself. It depends on whether you want to save time or make more money."

"Sir, time is money, and I'm willing to pay the price for it."

Re-sort it? No time for that. Selling the scrap is just killing two birds with one stone; the real prize is those high heels worth several hundred dollars.

Upon hearing that Ma Jieke had opted for a discount, the staff couldn't help but glance at him again.

Normally, no one would do that. The last thing scavengers have is time. After all, if you spend the same amount of time, you might not be able to earn that little difference.

The bill is complete. It weighs 15 pounds in total, which, multiplied by 1.45, is $21.75.

What I received was a $20 bill and a $1 bill, as well as a 50-cent coin and a 25-cent coin.

The harvest was not bad; at least we can have something hot to eat.

He stuffed the money into his pants pocket and headed to the flea market.