America 2009: Survival of the Underclass

Li Ang straightened his long T-shirt and looked at her, saying, "You have a zip-up jacket in your suitcase, right?"

She sat on the bed, looking puzzled. "Yes, what's wrong?"

"Change into something else, and change the clothes underneath too... something sexy," he said slowly, stroking his chin.

She smiled knowingly and nodded: "Same old trick, OK!"

After she opened her suitcase and changed into a red zip-up hoodie, Li Ang walked to the laminated board desk in two steps.

He picked up the volunteer vest from the table and threw it at her, putting on airs as he said, "This is your uniform, Corporal."

"Yes, sir!"

She took it, gave a crooked salute, and casually put it on.

Li Ang put on his volunteer vest neatly, looked up at her, and nodded approvingly.

Karen's looks and figure are so useful; if she were to do something shady, she'd be perfectly suited for it.

Unlike John, who, when he stands on the street, looks exactly like the kind of guy the police would want to slap with their batons the moment they see him.

"Let's go, let's get to work."

"A Great Adventure!"

The two pushed open the door and came out. John was squatting to the side, showing off his taco with a satisfied look on his face.

He stopped in his tracks, leading Karen through the middle of the warehouse, and turned back to yell at him, "Lazybones! If the blankets aren't washed by the time we get back, you'll go hungry tonight."

"Got it, boss," John replied casually, swallowing a mouthful of taco.

The two walked to the warehouse door, and Li Ang let go of his hand and picked up the cleaning clips by the door.

Along the way, surrounded by endless graffiti, the two of them played a little game of not stepping on homeless people, and slowly strolled to the intersection of Poor Street and South Park Avenue.

It's called a poor street, but it's really just a common name for the area within the 54th block of San Pedro Street.

Once you leave Block 54, this street should be properly called San Pedro Street, and you'll be heading into South Park, a well-known affluent neighborhood in Los Angeles.

There isn't a trace of homeless people here, all because the Southwest Precinct is nearby, and the police patrol every fifteen minutes.

Don't underestimate these police officers' ability to identify homeless people. After all, in the great United States, all kinds of people are thriving and life is full of vitality. Without this kind of eye, you can't wear this police uniform securely.

Wearing volunteer vests and with their striking white appearances, the two men blended into the core area of ​​South Park. Their eyes fell on the food and clothing donation boxes in a small open space ten meters away, and then glanced at the Southwest Precinct fifty meters away.

They exchanged a glance, nodded silently, and walked towards the small open space.

Two large blue and white clothing donation boxes stood in the open space, next to a one-meter-tall wooden food box with foam padding underneath and a waterproof tarpaulin on top.

The two walked to the food box, lifted the tarpaulin and looked inside. They immediately smiled at each other – it was a lucky day.

Inside the box: instant oatmeal, canned tuna and vegetables, bags of nuts, cereal bars, bottled water, cookies, small cakes, and even a whole box of pizza!

Karen, carrying a pizza box wrapped in several layers of plastic bags, beamed, "This is actually from Mazza! The cheapest one I've ever seen is over thirty dollars."

He nodded happily: "We're really lucky. We managed to unpack a few plastic bags and fill them with as much of these rich bastards' good stuff as possible."

Although Mr. Li had never heard of this bullshit Mazza, he didn't want to spoil Karen's fun.

"OK, sir." After saying that, she put the pizza back in the wooden frame and began to remove the excess plastic bags from the pizza box.

He patted her shoulder lightly, glanced at a white woman carrying a Hermès bag walking by, and whispered, "Take your time with your pretense, keep an eye on the mad dog, I'm going to get my clothes ready."

"I've already turned on the radar, sir," she replied in a low voice, twitching her ears slightly.

Li Ang straightened up, holding cleaning clips in his hand, walked a few steps to the clothing donation box, leaned against the box, and quietly glanced around.

A dozen or so people from nearby paid no attention to them, who were wearing volunteer vests.

He immediately turned around, jumped onto the delivery slot, braced himself with his abdomen, pushed open the barrier with his left hand for support, and reached into the bottom of the box with the cleaning tongs in his right hand.

As soon as his right hand touched the bottom, the clamp met something soft, and he was immediately delighted.

His hands immediately began to dart left and right, up and down, his fingers frantically gripping the handle as he frantically rummaged through it.

In less than five seconds, he felt the clamp hook onto something, and he pulled it up sharply. With a "whoosh," the object fell straight back to the bottom of the box.

Hearing the sound, he was not disappointed at all, but even more excited—it was new clothes.

After a slight adjustment, he tried again and successfully grabbed something in about five seconds.

This time, he gripped the handle tightly and slowly lifted it up. When he estimated that the position was about right, he suddenly thrust his head forward and grabbed it with his left hand. With a "whoosh," he got it!

"Bro, what are you doing?" A questioning voice came from behind.

He let out a soft breath, put on a formulaic smile, braced himself against his stomach, landed on his feet, turned around, and spoke with a hint of helplessness in his tone:

"The guy in charge of the keys for the Los Angeles mission is off today, so I... sigh, M3, bro."

"OK! Bro." The short-haired black man in the Barry suit nodded and raised his fist.

"Thank you for understanding, Bro." He feigned gratitude, handed the clip to the hand holding the plastic bag, and nodded and bumped fists.

The fist split in two, and the black man turned and walked straight away.

The two exchanged a glance, nodded slightly, and smiled knowingly.

He looked down at the transparent plastic bag in his hand, a surge of joy welling up inside him, and waved it at Karen.

A hint of surprise flashed across her face, quickly replaced by a sweet smile.

A pure white Nike hoodie, the tags still on—definitely a wealthy neighborhood.

He walked to the right side of the donation box, quietly hid the clothes behind the box, then walked back to the front, jumped onto the donation opening again, ready to try again.

Just a few minutes later, the piercing sound of police sirens, "whoosh-whoosh-," came hurtling towards them from not far away.

Karen, having packed the food, stood by the clothing donation box waiting for him to hand her something. She gently patted his back and, staring at the police car pulling out of the precinct a few dozen meters away, whispered:

"The mad dog is here, I'll handle it, you continue, sir."

As soon as she finished speaking, she pulled open her hoodie, revealing her curves, put on a sickeningly sweet smile, and walked to the shoulder of the road to wait.

The police car's rear wheels screeched to a halt next to Karen's white sneakers, the car swayed a few times, and then came to a steady stop.

The car door was pushed open with a bang, and a fat white policeman with his buttocks filling the door frame struggled to get out of the car.

Upon seeing Karen, a fair-skinned blonde with a sweet face, dressed smartly in a green vest from the mission team—a true white racer.

The serious expression on the face of the fat policeman, who was also a white racer, instantly transformed into a greasy, amiable smile.

"God bless you." She glanced quickly at the name tag on his lapel, her tone even sweeter. "Mr. Davis, is there something you need?"

The chubby policeman who moved in front of her smiled even wider: "Uh...it's nothing, I just came to check on you, sweetheart."

"You must be working very hard, Mr. Davis," Karen said with a smile and a gentle, pleasant tone.

"It's not so much hard work, but sometimes it's too dangerous and the pressure is immense. Look," he pointed to his round belly and shook his head slightly, "I can't take drugs, I can only rely on sugar to get through it."

"You have made great sacrifices for the people of Los Angeles. I am truly grateful for your contributions, Mr. Davis!" Karen looked at him with admiration.

"Of course, sweetheart. Protecting the people and serving the people is my duty." He waved his hand with an air of superiority, and if it weren't for that barely suppressed smirk, he would have really looked the part.

"Mr. Davis, the person in charge of the keys in our organization is on holiday today."

She turned slightly to the side, pointing at Li Ang, who was pretending to take something out but was actually tense, and said with a hint of helplessness, "Some people just have to be careful and let it fall in, you know."

"Of course I understand. These kinds of trivial things happen every day at work, so I can totally relate." He nodded with a smile, his face full of understanding.

"Ha, thanks for understanding. I have to go help my colleague now. See you next time, Mr. Davis." Karen chuckled, waved, and gestured towards Li Ang.

"See you next time, sweetheart." The fat policeman tried to bow slightly in a gentlemanly manner with his bulky body, but the movement was so small that it looked like he was just trembling.

As soon as she finished speaking, Karen smiled and nodded, then gently turned and walked towards Li Ang.

The overweight policeman stared at her retreating figure for two seconds, then glanced at his own stomach before laboriously turning around and shoving himself into the police car. A few seconds later, the engine roared to life, and the police car slowly drove away.

"Ugh~ Jesus! Christ! Fuck! You fat pig, you're fucking disgusting, I'm going to throw up, Leon." Karen patted her chest, looking disgusted.

Li Ang couldn't help but laugh out loud, jokingly saying, "Haha, this is Los Angeles, the City of Angels, a land of lazybones and cowards, full of fat bastards and mad dogs who should be on The Biggest Loser."

She patted his back and urged, "Get to work, you coward. It'll be trouble if the charity sees you."

"OK! Ms. Smith!" he replied, then turned back to continue his work.

"Adidas track pants, cool!"

"Jesus Christ! An LV shirt! It can fetch a good price even secondhand!"

"A Uniqlo T-shirt, it'll do."

"Lululemon yoga pants, brand new! I'll take these, Mr. Smith!"

"OK! Ms. Smith!"

"Fuck! How can there still be such junk? Ugh!"

He was slightly sweating, then picked up another piece of clothing and gripped it firmly with his left hand.

Having roughly estimated that it was about right, I braced myself against my stomach, landed on my feet, and looked down into my hand—it was a black turtleneck long T-shirt without a brand name.

"Let's run, Officer Smith." Karen saw him jump out, glanced at the gradually bustling street, nodded in acknowledgment, and immediately went around behind the donation box.

He threw the cleaning clips on the ground, grabbed the collar of his turtleneck T-shirt and clenched it tightly, and followed.

The two worked together seamlessly: he pulled open the hem of his shirt, and she stuffed clothes inside, managing to fit all thirteen pieces.

She then picked up the pizza and two bulging plastic bags next to her, and the two smiled at each other and nodded slightly.

He bent down to pick up the clip, and the two of them immediately took off running.

Less than a minute after they fled, a pickup truck with "Los Angeles Mission" printed on it came to a smooth stop right where the fat policeman had just parked.

"Dude, why is there so little food today?"

"Dude, it's like rain, sometimes more, sometimes less, that's normal. You'll get used to it after a while."