sinovels Chapter 2: Ways for the Homeless to Make Money
Chapter 2: Ways for the Homeless to Make Money
"You've mistaken me for someone else!"
The man with the bun looked panicked, his wrist was being gripped so tightly it hurt, and he tried to pull it back forcefully.
Ke Lin Simon is 1.85 meters tall and has prior experience in combat and fitness training, with well-defined biceps in his arms.
The man with the bun was less than 1.75 meters tall, looked no more than seventeen or eighteen years old, and was thin. After struggling for a while, he felt his arms go numb and could not break free at all.
The next second, Lin Simon flipped his wrist, twisting the man with the bun behind his back, and pressed his palm down hard on his shoulder blade—"Ugh!"
The man with the bun hairstyle slammed his cheek against the cold wall with a "thud," causing his cheekbone to ache.
Lin Simon reached into the man's hoodie pocket with his other hand, took out a phone box, and waved it in front of the man: "Mistaken identity? Then how come this thing is in your pocket?"
"Let me go! I'm from the Tumor Gang, a well-known gang on the West Coast!" the man with the bun said through gritted teeth, still stubbornly threatening.
"If you don't let go, my buddies will be here soon. No homeless people would dare mess with our Tumor Gang."
He deliberately shouted the words "Tumor Gang" a little louder, seemingly trying to intimidate Lin Ximeng with the gang's name.
Lin Ximeng didn't believe it at all, pointing to the alley entrance: "Gang? If you really had accomplices, they would have rushed out long ago when I pinned you down here, right? Look around, do you see any of your gang members?"
Although there were a few pedestrians in the alley, they had no interest in paying attention to the two homeless men arguing.
People either walked quickly with their necks hunched, or glanced at each other from a distance before turning their heads away. One woman pushing a stroller even went around to the other side of the road, refusing to slow down.
Homeless people are like dog shit; even the police don't really care about their disputes, let alone ordinary people.
The man with the bun hairstyle stubbornly insisted, "I... I just submitted my application, they just haven't approved it yet."
The voice grew softer and softer, losing its earlier assertiveness.
"Be honest, it's better for us all."
Lin Simon loosened his grip a little, but not completely, and pointed to the street corner—where stood two burly black men in black vests with tattooed arms.
"See those two?" Lin Simon's voice was low, but it reached the ears of the man with the bun clearly.
"I bet if they knew you stole something, they'd be happy to come and 'search you' to see if you have any other good stuff."
The man with the bun followed his finger and noticed one of the black men glancing at them intentionally, causing him to freeze instantly.
Having spent so much time on the streets, he knew all too well what that look meant, especially with his own rather soft face... A chill immediately ran up from the soles of his feet.
"Actually, I didn't mean any harm," Lin Ximeng said, sensing his stiffness, and softened his tone.
"If you answer a few questions honestly, I'll give this back to you, how about it?"
As he spoke, Lin Simon shook the phone box in his hand to indicate his presence.
"really?"
The man with the bun in his hair spoke with suspicion—he had been caught red-handed as a pickpocket, and now Lin Simon wasn't going to pursue the matter and was even willing to give him his phone. Did he really think Los Angeles was the City of Angels?
"My name is Lin Simon, I'm from Xia Country, and I just arrived in Luo City." Lin Simon didn't explain further, but simply showed his feelings by releasing his grip on the other person's right hand. "Now it's your turn. What's your name? How old are you?"
He deliberately softened his tone, trying to appear less aggressive, since he still needed the other party to find ways to make money, and there was no need to strain the relationship.
The stick has been struck, now it's time to offer some sweet treats.
"Riley, he just turned eighteen last month," the man with the bun said, flexing his slightly sore wrists.
"Okay, Riley," Simon Lin continued, "what made you decide to become homeless? And how long have you been doing it?"
"What else could I do? I couldn't stay at home anymore," Riley said, his tone still a bit childish, being only eighteen.
"My parents used to play in a band. All they did was go to bars and write crappy songs. Even after they got married, they each did their own thing and had affairs like they changed clothes."
At this point, he spoke in a calm tone, seemingly unconcerned, "Last Christmas, they both invited their lovers to their house. It turned out that my dad's lover was a man in disguise, and his penis was even bigger than my dad's."
"Then naturally they started arguing, and they even pulled out guns. I had had enough, so I ran away while they were smashing things."
Lin Ximeng listened without much surprise.
He once read a report that, due to the effects of "happy education" in the United States, many young people, starting from their student days, engage in sports and bands. Among them, those in bands have the highest rate of marital infidelity, twice that of the average person.
"So, you've been a homeless person for almost a year now?" Lin Ximeng asked, following up on the conversation.
Riley nodded: "Pretty much, from last Christmas until now."
Lin Simon glanced at Riley—although he was so thin that his hoodie was swaying and his hair was a bit messy, his face was still clean and he didn't have the sour smell of long-term homelessness. Clearly, even if he was homeless, he was doing quite well.
The fact that Riley could maintain this appearance after a year of homelessness shows that he must have his own way of surviving on the streets, which is exactly what he needs.
"One last question," Lin Simon asked.
"As an experienced homeless person, what are some easy ways to make money that you know?"
"Can you make money?" Riley looked Simon Lin up and down. "The easiest thing is collecting bottles. You don't need an ID. The recycling center collects them every day."
"A plastic bottle costs four cents, while an aluminum can earns an extra cent."
"Like the streets behind the Fire Bar, there are many drunks, and bottles are scattered everywhere. If you're lucky, you can pick up more than two hundred, and it's not hard to collect ten dollars."
"Okay, take me there."
As soon as Lin Ximeng finished speaking, he tossed the phone box in his hand over.
Riley caught it with lightning speed; the box was heavy. "This packaging looks like the latest iPhone!"
This should fetch several hundred dollars, which would be a huge sum for Riley, a homeless man.
He was about to grin, but when he opened the box, his smile froze instantly—
The bottom of the box was covered with a layer of shredded paper, and in the middle lay a palm-sized red brick with some dirt still stuck to its edges. There was no trace of a cell phone.
"Why are they bricks?"
Riley remembered the pain of being pinned against the wall, and his body still felt slightly stiff. A surge of anger welled up inside him, but when he looked up and met Lin Simon's ambiguous smile, his anger subsided.
His 1.73-meter-tall, skinny frame was like an egg hitting a rock compared to Lin Ximeng, who was 1.85 meters tall and had a habit of exercising.
"I shouldn't have taken that chance," Riley said angrily, slamming the box to the ground. "You weren't too dirty, and you looked pretty energetic, so I thought you were a homeless person for the first time..."
He previously thought Simon Lin was a classic example of the American middle-class narrative—
He suddenly lost his job, which naturally led to a divorce from his wife. The next step was losing his house, car, and all his property. On his first day as a homeless man, all he had left in his pocket was a brand new cell phone that he had just bought on installment.
So he decided to take a gamble, but he ended up losing money; it was all Lin Ximeng's trap.
Lin Ximeng shrugged. After seeing the system's information, he deliberately stuffed a brick into the phone box to make the fishing look more realistic.
"No wonder those people on Wall Street always say that you Chinese are bad," Riley said, squatting on the ground, his tone even a little aggrieved, "You even play so many tricks on homeless people."
Looking at Riley's dejected expression, Lin Ximeng said, "There's an old saying in our Xia Kingdom: 'A loss may turn out to be a blessing in disguise.'"
Riley looked bewildered: "What do you mean?"
Influenced by his bandmate parents, he dropped out of school early in junior high and couldn't even understand some American proverbs, let alone Chinese proverbs.
"What I mean is, not getting the phone box isn't a loss for you," Lin Ximeng continued.
"Didn't you say you could collect bottles at the back door of the Fire Bar? Come with me, I guarantee we'll make more than ten dollars today, at least 25.5 dollars."