America 2009: Survival of the Underclass

"Fuck you! You son of a bitch!"

"What's wrong, boss?"

John was startled awake by the noise and looked up in surprise.

The warehouse was dimly lit by only faint light filtering through the gaps in the brick walls and ventilation openings, making it impossible to see Li Ang's expression.

But from his rapid, unsteady breathing, John could clearly sense that his boss was terrified by something.

"It's alright, John." Leon let out a breath, forcibly suppressing his wildly beating heart, and pretended to be relaxed.

Dream.

In his past life, he was attacked by the Heavenly Bodhisattva; in this life, he is hunted, shot, and tortured by GD; and there are also dazzling sunfish at the bottom of Lake Michigan.

He shook his head violently, trying to banish the bloody image from his mind. He moved to the edge of the bed, put on his canvas shoes, and said in a deep voice, "Get up, time to work."

"Smith is nowhere to be found, and the South Homan Street residence is empty, Regent." The man in the beanie stood in front of the desk, calmly reporting to the burly black man in front of him.

"What? They got away!"

The regent slammed his fist on the table, the marijuana in his hand glowing brightly, and roared with a ferocious expression, "20! Dig three feet into the ground to find him! Kill him! I actually got played by some white bastard!"

"How will the other regents laugh at me? What will Father (the governor) think of me?"

"Fuck you! You son of a bitch..."

The man in the beanie then launched into a tirade of angry curses at Leon Smith.

After all, the Regent approved the Bai trash joining the gang in the first place, and now that he's running away, it's like slapping the Regent in the face in public.

The office, filled with guns, was filled with angry shouts that lasted for several minutes before gradually subsiding.

The man in the beanie looked at the panting regent and nodded, saying, "Regent, I'll go find my brothers at the police station now."

"Good. He must be dragged out for me. I'll chop this bastard into eight pieces." The Regent suppressed his panting and nodded menacingly.

The man in the beanie nodded, turned and left, not even reaching the door.

"Wait a minute!" the regent suddenly called out to him.

After the other party turned around, he coldly said, "A limit of 10."

"Understood, Regent." The man in the beanie nodded, opened the door, and strode out.

"Wages, John." He locked the door, pulled a wad of loose bills from his jeans pocket, counted out $20, and handed it to John beside him.

"Thanks, Mr. Smith." John grinned, reached out and took it, carefully pulled down his pants, and placed it inside his underwear.

"Let's go eat first." After he put the money away, Li Ang patted him on the shoulder, waved his hand, and led him forward.

Yesterday, when he was buying a blanket, the stall owner's words led him to a more profitable and safer way to sell cheap daily necessities than he had previously planned, and it didn't cost him anything.

However, preparation is essential before you start making money.

The two strolled leisurely to the vicinity of the 5th Street subway station, where many undocumented Mexican workers had set up stalls selling tacos.

The sweet aroma of corn tortillas and sauces filled the air, making Li Ang swallow hard.

The Mexicans who set up stalls at the subway entrance are very united and never engage in price wars. All the dozen or so stalls have the same price: $1.20 per serving.

He walked up to the stall of a middle-aged woman in a white hoodie who looked pleasing to the eye, but before he could say anything...

"Hello sir, how many servings would you like?"

The middle-aged woman smiled and greeted them warmly.

Meeting their gaze, he said casually, "Eat until we're full."

The middle-aged woman didn't move. Li Ang smiled, took out some banknotes from his pocket, counted out 20 US dollars, and slapped them on the stall table.

"Yes, sir, right away!" She grabbed the money, grinned, and quickly started making the tacos.

A U-shaped tortilla shell is topped with various vegetables, minced beef, and diced ham, then drizzled with mayonnaise and salsa, and a taco is ready in no time.

The two stood in front of the stall, eating one after another as if in a competition, but their speed couldn't even keep up with the middle-aged woman's speed of making them.

"Four dollars, here you go." After swallowing the last bite, Li Ang handed over the money.

$1.2 each, 20 servings in total.

He ate 13 servings by himself—perhaps due to the time travel, this not-so-tall body was having an increasingly astonishing appetite.

John, standing beside him, patted his slightly bulging belly, a satisfied look on his face. Although he hadn't eaten as much as the boss, he could still say he'd lost with honor.

"Which charity needs volunteers, John?" Leon asked, looking at his satisfied expression.

John lowered his head and thought for a moment, then looked up and replied, "The Los Angeles Mission, boss. It's on Fifth Street, only a two-minute walk from here."

"Come on, John, let's do some volunteer work." He patted John on the shoulder, gesturing for him to lead the way.

John didn't understand why his boss would pay someone to do volunteer work with him, but he nodded and quickly walked ahead to lead the way.

The two men circled around in the shade of the trees, avoiding the homeless man lying on the ground with a contented look on his face. Sure enough, in less than two minutes, they arrived at the Los Angeles Mission Group, which was surrounded by a blue fence.

This is a shelter. The main building looks like a kindergarten in China, only it's a few floors higher.

The two entered the courtyard through a gate that was slightly ajar, climbed a few steps, and pushed open the glass door below the words "Los Angeles Mission".

Upon hearing the commotion, the blonde white receptionist immediately put on a formulaic smile and asked politely but distantly, "Is there anything I can help you with, gentlemen?"

"Do you need any volunteers today, ma'am?" Li Ang asked politely, offering the same polite smile.

She deliberately lowered her head and pretended to think for a moment before suddenly realizing, "The third floor needs a volunteer to clean, sir."

"Yes. I have a small request, ma'am." He nodded.

"We will do our best to help with anything we can." Even so, the polite tone clearly implied a refusal.

"Madam, we'd like to keep the volunteer vests after they're finished as a souvenir, is that alright?" Li Ang didn't care about the other party's attitude at all; he could just go to the next company if necessary.

"Of course, sir." She still smiled and spoke politely, but you could clearly hear the relief in her voice.

The two signed volunteer forms at the front desk and were then routinely seated on a row of plastic chairs by the door to wait. The receptionist picked up a landline and made a call, but as soon as the call connected, she slammed it down.

Just two minutes later, the elevator dinged, and a plump, white woman stepped out from the left elevator with a big smile. She looked at the two men and asked, "Gentlemen, are you here to do volunteer work?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The two of them stood up and nodded, then followed her into the elevator.

"Thank you so much for your contribution to charity. We're always short-staffed for cleaning here." She said this in a formulaic way as the elevator doors closed.

"The spirit of the City of Angels," Li Ang replied politely with a smile.

"Yes, the spirit of the City of Angels."

Silence ensued, and soon the elevator doors opened again with a "ding," revealing two rows of independent rooms on the left and right, with a spacious lobby in the middle.

The bunk beds were packed tightly together, the crowd was chaotic, and strange shouts and whispers could be heard from time to time.

Fortunately, the shelter has strict rules, and people who don't follow them are expelled, so the environment is still acceptable.

She led the two into the first disinfection supplies room on the right and took out two relatively clean green vests from a cardboard box at the door.

The two had just put them on.

"You only need to clean the single room on the left today. If the person inside refuses to open the door, come find me." With that, she turned and left, leaving the two of them standing there.

The two looked at each other and nodded silently.

"You take care of the cleaning, I'll go get the garbage bags and buckets." Li Ang naturally adopted the airs of a boss.

"Fine, since you're the boss." John nodded helplessly.

The two put on gloves. John picked up a broom, mop, and shovel, while Leon held large and small garbage bags and carried a red plastic bucket filled with water from the disinfection station.

Amidst the amused gazes of the other residents in the dormitory, the two men walked along the wall near the elevator entrance, crossing the entire lobby and starting their work from the first room.

Why are they called residents?

Because those who can live in shelters are mostly respectable people who have recently gone bankrupt.

Last month, they might have been driving luxury cars and living in suburban villas.

They receive unemployment insurance and welfare, and eat EBT food stamps, making them far more well-off than homeless people who have to sleep on the streets and rely on EBT food stamps to survive.

Of course, these good days won't last long.

If they cannot find a job within a certain period of time, they may be able to stay in the shelter once their insurance and welfare payments stop.

But in the end, he will try to communicate with God through some underhanded means, be driven out, and meet the God he has been longing for in person a few years later.

Determined?

Are all those multi-talented homeless people on the street orphans who are automatically reborn?

My great United States of America is too powerful! Who in this galaxy can defeat it?

The streets are automatically popping up with artists, scientists, soldiers, and talents from all walks of life.

Head up! Chest out! Salute!

Play the Stars and Stripes!

"Oh~ can you see this wisp...?"

I'd like to see who dares to be unpatriotic!

"Knock knock knock~" Li Ang knocked lightly on the white wooden door. In less than five seconds, the door was pulled open with a "click", and a brown-haired white man with an arrogant and domineering face appeared in front of him.

"Hey, come in, kid."

He raised the corner of his mouth, casually waved his hand, and moved aside.

Seeing this, Li Ang really wanted to sing a local bandit's folk song, dump a bucket of water on his head, and then slap him hard across the face a few times.

They're practically running around on the streets playing their private God-communicating games, and they still dare to put on airs like this.

Don't let your Mr. Li stand up. Once he really gets his hands on this shelter, he can kick all these bastards out into the streets to talk to God and play the day of the Holy Spirit's descent.

Feeling disgusted, Li Ang stopped putting on airs as a boss and helped John sweep and mop. After changing the garbage bags, he carried a bunch of cleaning tools and walked out of the room under the watchful gaze of the slovenly man leaning against the door frame.

As he continued cleaning, his temper grew stronger. Not to mention all of them, nine out of ten residents in the single rooms acted arrogantly.

"Cleaner, this isn't clean, M3?" A thin, dreadlocked Black man pointed to the gleaming floor under the chair, his face mockingly difficult.

"Okay, I'll get right on it." Li Ang subtly memorized the face, bent down and vigorously mopped a few times, then stood up and looked at him. "Is it ready now?"

"Alright, you guys should leave now. You can't even clean properly." He waved his hand dismissively, shooing them away with obvious impatience.

The two picked up their things, silently walked out of the room, and had just stepped out the door.

"Close the door, cleaner. M3?"

"Click~"

The white wooden door closed in front of him. Li Ang released the doorknob, suppressed the emotions in his eyes, and nodded slightly to John.

The two continued walking toward the next private room.