Simone also picked up two donuts from a relief station on another street.
They exchanged food and sat by the roadside. At past nine o'clock, there wasn't much traffic or pedestrian flow in Los Angeles, still sparsely populated. Quite a few homeless had already started to push their carts and wander.
Some were groggy, stopping every few steps, and walking like wobbling dolls or zombies, as if they were high and still hadn't come down.
Officers from the Southern Division had also started to take up their posts, knocking on the tents of the homeless with batons, posting warnings on empty tents, and forcefully evicting those blocking main thoroughfares.
The main streets of Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Avenues were famously crowded with homeless, with hundreds of streets completely filled.
Just like the area around Thirteenth District, where gang conflicts were frequent, even fully armed officers wouldn't dare to walk through those alleys - coming out full of holes.
This area wasn't one of the bustling central streets either, it was located in the slums of South Los Angeles, yet less than a half-hour drive from downtown.
Los Santos, being the United States' second-largest city, is crisscrossed with roads, encompassing nearly fifty thousand streets in total.
Rich celebrities usually only settle in Beverly Hills, Santa Monica Sea View Villas, Manhattan Beach in Southern Los Angeles, the rich area of Brentwood, Sevilla Beach Residential Area, and the Corona Crown District, far from skid row.
Those slightly better-off move away to the city center and other districts, to famed places like Star Avenue, Sunset Boulevard, Perro Avenue, Dragon Avenue, West Hollywood, etc., definitely not in the slums of South Los Angeles.
Skid row was also full of homeless and addicts gathered together. The local economy was in a recession, taxpayers dwindled, and consequently, the allocation of police resources was also relatively reduced.
The crime rate in the area continued to rise, creating a bleak and chaotic environment, and no capital was willing to invest in opening stores to provide jobs, thus creating an irreversible vicious cycle.
The poor got poorer, and the rich got richer.
Walking the streets of Los Angeles, you would often see just across one street, a vast difference in prosperity.
One street brimming with luxury cars, lavish homes, glitz and glamor, bright lights and vibrant nights. Police cars, police dogs, guards every few steps, sentries every ten steps, order neatly maintained.
On another street, addicts everywhere, nibbling on drugs, injecting needles, homeless roaming. Trash littered everywhere, a foul stench in the air.
Gangsters firing guns day in and day out, bullets whizzing past your scalp.
...
"I don't like cream ice cream; it makes me gain weight. I need to manage my body," said Simone. Seeing that Allen Zhang quickly finished the ice cream cake, seemingly fond of sweets, she conveniently gave him hers.
"Thank you, sweetheart," said Allen Zhang, saluting her with a serious expression.
Since yesterday, he had only eaten two meals, severely lacking in protein and calorie intake. To maintain his lean physique and consistent fighting ability, he knew he had to ensure a balanced diet.
The cake came just in time. Although it was all junk food, it was still better than no nutrition at all.
What a generous benefactor!
"I'm off to work now, goodbye, Allen."
Simone, having finished her four-and-a-half-star-rated relief meal, felt great and left Allen her social id, then waved and pedaled away on her bike.
"Goodbye, Simone."
Watching the hardworking girl leave, Allen also felt quite fond of her.
And it wasn't just because she had a great figure and a beautiful behind.
He admired her positive, optimistic spirit even more! That was quite rare among the homeless crowd.
After finishing his meal and flattening the cola bottle to fit in his pocket, he also prepared to attend to his own matters.
A homeless man should look the part.
Walking through the streets, Allen Zhang arrived at the alley on 24th Justice Avenue as mentioned in the daily intelligence.
The intelligence on his phone was still displayed, indicating it was yet to expire.
Although he was fully prepared for body-searching, once Allen got there, he found a crowd gathered at the entrance of the alley, along with two police cars and warning tape.
Sensing that something was amiss, Allen immediately stopped by the roadside and asked a nearby homeless old Black man what had happened.
He learned that a street fight had occurred nearby.
Some white youths had come here on motorcycles last night, offering a hundred US Dollars for homeless men to fight, with the winner claiming the prize.
But someone had accidentally exerted too much force, injuring a person, which ultimately led to a homeless man's death and multiple injuries.
This incident also alarmed the local police, but not to hold anyone accountable, rather to cover up the facts, deal with the body, and quell the rumors.
The death of a homeless man wasn't a big deal.
The homeless guy who accidentally killed someone is actually pretty tough.
It could also be because most homeless people are heavy users, with very poor physical fitness, their heads groggy, and their frail bodies as fragile as glass.
"Thanks, mate."
After thanking the man, Allen Zhang turned to leave, relieved that he hadn't come here to investigate the body right away, as it would be troublesome if the police started questioning his identity.
Walking at a leisurely pace, he eventually arrived at 134 Hopson Street, Carnation Club.
The storefront looked plain and ordinary, its signboard even peeling a bit, but only at night could one truly discover what made it so alluring.
During the day, it was clearly closed, with only cleaners responsible for sanitation, dragging a pile of garbage, paper wads, little umbrellas, and bottles, sorting them into dumpsters in the back alley.
Allen Zhang went around to the back alley; he had noticed earlier that some people had already claimed the territory here.
A few homeless people huddled outside the mouth of the alley, smoking in a daze.
Next to them, a small trolley held all their possessions and several bloated garbage bags.
Judging by their blissful expressions, these weren't ordinary cigarettes—they were definitely laced with something.
Allen Zhang ignored them completely, brushing past the group as he walked into the alley.
"Hey, buddy, hasn't anyone told you this is our turf?"
A few homeless people, seeing an unfamiliar Asian face who ignored them, glanced at each other. They threw their cigarette butts on the ground and stomped them out, surrounding him.
Waving him off, they said, "Get out of here quick!"
"Homeless folks acting like gangs, claiming territories, pretending to be something - that's got to be the biggest joke," laughed Allen Zhang.
"What did you say? Buddy! Say that again!!" The bearded homeless man straightened his hat, storming over with a menacing aura and bloodshot eyes.
Taking advantage of his height, he looked down at Allen, pointing a dirty finger at his chest, prodding, "Get lost! We've claimed this place long ago."
Allen Zhang brushed off his dirty hand and, without another word, grabbed the collar of the man's coat.
He felt that the guy was merely heavily dressed and probably didn't even weigh 150 pounds.
Weak as could be.
With a crossover step and a shoulder throw, he lifted the man with brute force, flipping him over! The homeless man cried out in surprise as he knocked over a dumpster.
"What do you wanna do, fight me?" Allen Zhang rolled up his sleeves, clenched his fists, and his terrifying forearm muscles tensed and writhed.
"Come on! Let's see what you street dwellers, you poison worms, are made of!" His tone was full of arrogance.
This spectacle instantly sobered the addicts' stuffed heads.
"Ok! You can have this place! We'll leave right away, buddy!" They helped up their fallen comrade, eager to escape.
They hadn't intended to cause trouble in the first place, just to scare him away. They couldn't even handle normal folks, let alone a man with such exaggerated muscle.
Thick wrists, low body fat, he looked intimidating, as if he could punch someone to death!
"Stop."
Allen Zhang had no intention of letting them off easily. He pointed at the bags in their hands, then at the overturned dumpster, "Pick them up, go collect the bottles for me!"
On his second day on the West Coast, Allen Zhang beats up a local white man.
Goodness, this Asian has quite the temper!! To avoid being hit, the homeless began obediently collecting bottles for him.
Watching their skillful actions, Allen understood these guys were talents.
Especially that tall, irritable one - at least 1.9 meters, unkempt beard, a menacing appearance.
Without giving them too much trouble, once they emptied the dumpster and filled the bags, he gave them each one US dollar as payment.
Of course, the money was the spoils picked from their pockets.
Allen Zhang only had one cent in his pocket; he certainly wouldn't part with his own money to give to others.
And now, this money had returned to its rightful owner, and he took all of their bottles as well.
Money in one hand, goods in the other.
Classic street bully behavior.
He'd seen cases of robbery, but this was the first time he encountered someone who robbed both trash and money.