With the ending of the Azalea Festival, the spring revelry in Atlanta in 2003 officially drew to a close.In a neighborhood on the outskirts of Marietta, Martin Davis limped into the living room, his injured knee protesting in pain.He had only been in North America for a week and was still adjusting.On the bare wooden walls of the living room were two faded posters. One was the cover of Gone with the Wind. The other was the T-1000 from Terminator 2.Martin sat on the ragged couch, the swirling dust tickling his nose on the verge of a sneeze when something hard poked into his butt, puncturing the rusty springs and worn foam and fabric.Martin cursed as he shifted his butt to the other side. The damaged foam cushion collapsed into a dent, as soft as a certain Dany's oversized balloon, cradling a critical spot.He suddenly ached, both for the balloon and the arduous future eked out.Martin had drifted around for many years, honing his acting skills step-by-step, learning relevant skills, even working as a stunt double for several years, before finally landing some small supporting roles through tireless hustling.At the start of the new year, Martin had maneuvered his way into a supporting role that could make the top five cast list.If the TV show succeeded, grinding it out another five or six years, he might even gain the reputation of a veteran actor.Fun-loving Martin found people to party wildly with, drinking several cocktails he concocted himself and falling asleep buried in two extra-large balloons. Potentially suffocating led to the tragedy unfolding.When he next awoke, he was in 2003 Georgia.The original Martin Davis was not well off. His most recent job had been as a housing repairman. He fell from a roof a week ago, injuring his leg and head.Martin took advantage of the opening and became 22-year-old Martin Davis, but the original's memories of part of America were like programs needing decoding, operating relatively slowly for now.This past week, Martin spent most of his time getting familiar with the language, gradually able to communicate normally.
The front door opened from outside, and Elena Carter with her brown hair tied in a ponytail jangled in her keys, her younger brother Harris Carter followed behind holding a paper bag. Elena had delicate features and a tall figure, her smooth face lacked the freckles common on white people. As soon as she entered, she said, "Brain better? Can talk normally now?"Martin shot her the middle finger, as if he'd done it countless times: "What do you know? One knock on the head, IQ doubles."Elena thrust out her chest, the white hoodie exaggerating the height: "Good, hurry up and find a job, I don't want to keep delivering meals to a lazybum for another week. I have two little brats to feed, can't afford you."This past week while Martin was injured, it was Elena and her siblings from next door who came to bring him meals."According to Dr. Bill, the probability of you recovering within a week is as high as seventy percent," said Harris Carter as he set the paper bag on the small wooden table. "Free bread from the church, with fried chicken this time."He turned around to leave: "Bill's been practicing for two months, cured twenty sheep and thirty-five cows, never made a mistake."Before heading out the door, Harris looked back: "The bike is mine today, I'm going to tutor the Cole sisters.""You two idiots, take me to see the vet!" Martin burst out crudely, grabbing the bag without niceties.Elena plopped down next to Martin, felt the poke in her butt, and said, "You don't have dogshit health insurance, I can't afford to take you to a proper clinic. Bill used to live on this street, doesn't charge us for consultations."Martin took out the bread and ate large bites along with the fried chicken, recalling the injury and previous job: "The repair company owes me two weeks wages, plus this injury, I'll think of ways to get more money."His pockets were cleaner than his face, extremely poor, certain ideas automatically popped out."You better get more money!" Elena snatched a piece of bread and bit viciously into it: "The food you've eaten this week, plus the months of freeloading, I'm not keeping accounts with you, a poor devil. But the rent on this house, your worthless dad hasn't paid for half a year!" She glared, fiercer than towering peaks: "The shittiest thing, this Monday your dad Jack ran off with my mom Emma, in the name of true love and freedom!"This reminded Martin, he searched his memory and sadly discovered he was not simply a poor devil.One month before Jack Davis took Emma Carter away, he had the original Martin Davis borrow $6,000 at high interest from the owner of the Wild Beast House.Emma Carter conveniently rolled up the money from selling contraband belonging to her husband Scott Carter.The two smacked their butts and joyfully went on a world tour, leaving behind two piles of crap.Martin said in a low voice: "The first installment of the high interest loan is due soon.""Go pray for God's blessings," Elena shrugged, no cheap sympathy between the poor. Martin shook his head: "God doesn't bless the poor."
"The disability subsidy review day is coming up soon. My uncle James' subsidy all these years was collected by Jack, Jack left behind documentation, and now he's run off with Emma, the subsidy is done for," Elena said anxiously, "How do we keep living without money, damnit!"Just as Martin was about to ask, he remembered - this house belonged to James Carter, and said, "Your uncle died eight years ago from eating tainted flour.""Now I'm sure your brain didn't get damaged from the fall," Elena didn't care at all, and pointed to the small woods behind the house, "James is buried there."A few days ago she had still worried that Martin went from a poor devil to an idiot poor devil from the fall, and she'd have to support one more. Now her emotions calmed, and she said lightly, "James was very lucky to be freed from the pain of being a poor devil. The hole he was buried in was dug by you and me.""Damn!" Martin's head hurt. The poor in hell were incurably ill.Elena took out her chipped cell phone case and glanced at the time, then stood up and said, "I should go be a temp at the mall now."Martin casually comforted: "Don't worry, we'll find a way out."But Elena looked at the T1000 poster and said, "Don't go back to that damn theater troupe for free labor again. Robert Patrick never came back to the Marietta Theater after making it big."What Martin thought about now was solving basic living issues first. He answered, "Don't worry, I won't work for others for free."Because Martin Davis had a record, Elena warned him again before leaving: "Poor devil, if you can't do it, I'll settle accounts with you, calculate how many times we clapped hands, and how much you owe me! Also, I'll call the Wild Beast House club and tell them you're willing to be a male stripper to pay off debts! Think about why they were willing to lend you high interest loans!""For clapping, isn't it you who should be paying? I give you billions worth every time!" Martin said righteously. Elena raised both hands over her head, flipping two middle fingers.After Martin finished the bread and fried chicken, his stomach lined, and his leg didn't seem to hurt anymore either.After a simple tidy up, he went outside and looked around a bit in the sunlight.Marietta belonged to the sparse south suburb type of small city. Even in the shabby Clayton neighborhood Martin was in, each detached wooden house had a small yard in front.In the fenced yard next door tangled with broken wire, a boy was digging a hole in the ground, with cardboard placed by his feet.This was Elena's ten-year-old brother Hall Carter.An old Dodge pickup truck drove up the cracked road, painted with a dancing man pattern, with the words "Wild Beast House" below. The truck stopped at the roadside, and the muscle-shirted man who got out looked towards Martin and asked, "Martin Davis?"