America 2009: Survival of the Underclass

The continuous shelling in Los Angeles has finally stopped.

Fifth Street, Central City Community Church.

The white wooden door of cubicle number 9 on the second floor was banged on.

"Lazybones! Are you asleep yet?"

John's panicked voice came from inside the door, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on: "No! I wasn't sleeping! Boss!"

"Come with me to do something."

"Okay! Okay! Right away!"

Less than a minute later, the door was suddenly pulled open and then slammed shut again.

A strong, almost suffocating scent of photinia flowers wafted into Li Ang's nostrils through the crack in the door.

Leon leaned against the wall, watching John flash to the door.

Five seconds later.

"Cough, cough... Boss... what is it? Let's go quickly." John's face was pale, his eyes were unfocused, and he pointed to the stairwell, looking embarrassed and flustered.

"Lazybones, save your energy for work. Don't spend all your time fiddling with that junk," Li Ang shook his head helplessly and joked, "Otherwise, you'll never finish this job."

"OK!" John's expression changed, and he patted his chest to assure everyone, "I won't do that again, please don't fire me."

He nodded with a straight face, then took a step forward and said, "When I have money, I'll find a girlfriend. Don't waste your life."

"clear!"

The two walked out of the church's small white building together.

On the main street, most of the homeless people who hadn't received the "Descent of the Holy Spirit" prayer were either fast asleep or unconscious in their tents.

Occasionally, a vehicle would drive by, enlivening the oppressive atmosphere and reminding people that this was still the downtown area of ​​the second-largest city in the United States.

At the entrance of the warehouse on Seventh Street.

Li Ang stopped and pointed to the mountain bike under the traffic light across the street. He said softly, "Go cut the throttle cable off that motorcycle and then glue it back on. Do it carefully, you lazybones."

John hesitated for two seconds, took the small pencil sharpener and lighter from Leon, nodded, and turned to cross the road.

He crossed the road, walked to the traffic light a dozen meters to the left, picked up a plastic bag from the trash can, and straightened his back to look at Li Ang, who had already opened the warehouse door.

With gritted teeth, he squatted down and slowly pushed and pulled the throttle cable of the motorcycle with a small pencil sharpener.

The line was cut with great difficulty.

He carefully pieced the broken ends back together and used a lighter to burn the plastic bag.

The plastic melted into a black, gel-like substance.

After it cooled down a bit, he began to carefully rub it with his hands, spreading the gel-like substance evenly on the broken surface.

It took several minutes, but it was finally done.

If you don't look at it closely, you won't see the problem at all.

John straightened up, let out a long sigh, and nodded as he looked at Li Ang, who was already walking out with his luggage.

Li Ang walked over with his suitcase, glanced at the "intact" throttle cable, and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

"Good job, you lazybones. Hurry up and pack up the things you're taking."

"Okay, boss." He nodded, took the warehouse key from Li Ang, and quickly walked across the street.

John didn't have much to bring with him. His only valuable possession was a blanket that Leon had given him, which he no longer needed while staying at the church.

He casually grabbed some clean clothes, tucked them into his arms, locked the warehouse door, and the two cautiously began their return towards the Fifth Street Church.

Karen, wrapped lazily in a blanket, watched Li Ang pull in his suitcase with a mischievous grin on his face. "What mischief have you gotten yourself into now, Mr. Smith?"

He put his suitcase away, closed and locked the door, looked at her, grinned, and said, "You know perfectly well what I mean."

……

the next day.

"1 or 2?"

"1".

"1 or 2?"

"1".

"1 or 2?"

"2!"

"Jesus! Christ!" He sprang to his feet, looking annoyed at Karen, who was twisting his waist with a mischievous grin.

She let go, slapped his thigh, rolled her whole body to the right, kicked off her shoes on the ground, bent down, picked up her clothes that were lying on the ground, and put them on, jokingly saying:

"Get up, take a shower and start earning money. It's almost 7 o'clock, you coward."

Li Ang stretched and yawned.

"Pick up my clothes, Ms. Smith."

The two casually put on their clothes, rummaged through the closet for a change of clothes, grabbed toothbrushes and towels, and pushed open the door to leave room number 10.

He casually woke up John in room 9, slapped $20 and the warehouse key into his hand, and assigned him the daily task of guarding the warehouse.

"Cool! It's L'Oréal shampoo and body wash!"

Karen, who had already started washing, heard footsteps and shouted loudly.

"It's a church, after all! It's terrible! They're not just slapping the pastor's backside, they're slapping God's face!"

He turned on the tap and responded loudly.

"Aren't you afraid of being beaten to death by your followers! You demon!"

"If you're not afraid of getting beaten to death by those black guys, why should I be?!"

The two chatted loudly, enjoying their morning showers after the boxing match.

After showering, Karen changed into a brand new white Nike hoodie she pulled from the donation box, and Li Ang also pulled a brand new black Uniqlo long T-shirt from the donation box. For their lower bodies, both of them wore jeans and canvas shoes.

They stuffed their dirty clothes into the washer-dryer, went back to their room, put on their green volunteer vests, and walked hand in hand downstairs.

Cole, who was carefully wiping the podium with a white towel, trembled at the sound of movement. After they came down, he looked up and asked in a deep voice:

"A church member brought you breakfast, would you like some?"

The two looked at Cole, who had recovered overnight, exchanged a glance, and Leon, seeing Karen about to cause trouble, spoke first: "Of course."

Cole nodded, slapped the towel in his hand onto the podium, strode into the office, and handed two paper bags to the two people sitting on the small soft chairs.

"Thanks, Cole."

He glanced at the Rolex on Cole's right wrist and a smile crept across his face.

Cole nodded, turned around, walked to the podium, picked up a towel, and began to wipe carefully again.

Three tacos wrapped in tin foil, that's all. This stuff is the taste of Los Angeles.

Although California had not yet passed legislation to become the first legally recognized sanctuary state in the United States at that time, its attitude towards illegal workers was much better than that of other states.

Especially in Los Angeles, the City of Angels, as long as you behave yourself and don't commit crimes or cause trouble, the police won't bother you, and the immigration authorities generally won't investigate.

The large number of Mexican taco stalls fundamentally changed the eating habits of the city's lower classes.

Eating tarts for every meal isn't unusual, since you can always find them cheaply 24/7.

The two quickly finished the tacos in the bag. For Li Ang, three tacos were basically just a taste, but wouldn't it be disrespectful to the Empress Dowager not to eat something that was free?

Back then, America also benefited from the billions of dollars in subsidies from the Empress Dowager, so now they should rightfully take it back.

"Are you full, Ms. Smith?"

She patted her belly and said contentedly, "Of course, three towers are just right."

He stood up, nodded, and said to Cole, "Cole, do you have a hoodie?"

"There are a few more, but they're all old." He stopped what he was doing and looked up.

"As long as it's clean."

Cole quickly found a black zip-up hoodie in the supply storage room and handed it to Li Ang.

He took the zip-up hoodie, looked at the style, and nodded in satisfaction.

The bandit-style hat has two hats: one is a normal outer hat, and the other is an inner hat with a zipper that can be pulled up from the hem to the nose, only exposing the eyes.

However, since it was broad daylight, he didn't plan to pull up his inner hat, otherwise, if the police mistook him for a black guy with a stunning white woman by his side, he'd be in for a few bullets.

With a gun pulled out, one tells you to stand up, and the other tells you to lie down. Do you still dare to reach down and unzip your zipper?

If they dare to pull, they're criminals ready to draw their guns!

A white person dressed as a black person and begging for bullets—this kind of show has explosive effects, but it can also be deadly.

"Could it be a donation from someone with thick lips, Reverend?" Karen teased loudly, looking at the hoodie in his hand and tugging at it.

"Uh..." Cole stopped and thought for a moment, then said without turning his head, "It was indeed donated by a Black boy."

She took the volunteer vest from Li Ang and said happily, "Haha, I knew it! Thick lips love to eat bullets."

"Shut up! Don't say things like that in broad daylight," Li Ang, who was zipping up his hoodie, quickly interjected.

She handed the vest to Li Ang, who had already put on his hoodie, and said sarcastically, "Yo, is Bai Trash fantasizing about having thick lips again?"

He shook his head helplessly, put on his vest, put his hands on her shoulders, and said seriously, "You need to tone it down. The president is the Lancelot now. If you play white supremacist and racist games in public, you're going to get into big trouble sooner or later."

He paused, then continued, "Do you want to go to jail and have lesbian sex with those black bastards and muscular Latina women? With your small frame, you probably wouldn't even be able to resist."

"Ah!" A look of fear flashed across Karen's face. She shivered, nodded, and said hurriedly, "OK! OK! OK! I'll be careful in public places. I don't want to come into contact with Latinos or people with thick lips."

"Look, you have such thick lips!"

"Black person."

Li Ang nodded. This tactic was still effective. For a white supremacist, nothing was more terrifying than going to prison, being with other ethnic groups, and being sexually assaulted.

Cole stood straight behind the podium, watching the two people wearing masks push open the door and walk out, suppressing the corners of his mouth that were curling up.