America: Starting with Daily Intelligence-Chapter 10 - Work Income

"Tell me where you live, I might call on you for work later on," Allen Zhang said.

"Thanks, boss. We don't have a place to live. We mostly wander the streets around here," the homeless man took the dollar and exchanged a glance. Although it was a little less, at least the effort wasn't for nothing, right?

He looked like he could throw a punch, but he didn't bully them too much and treated them with respect. At the very least, he paid them for the cans and for their labor...

Was it touching?

Dare not move, dare not stir.

Allen Zhang waved them away and told them to not go too far as he might need to find them later.

The homeless men verbally agreed. In reality, they were thinking of moving somewhere else after this.

What a joke, staying here to become someone's free labor and lose their freedom?

No liberty, better death.

The homeless men hurried away.

Allen Zhang didn't care; after all, they were just labor he got for nothing.

Under the astonished eyes of the Carnation Club's cleaner, he returned loaded with bags full of cans.

As he passed a square on the street, Allen Zhang took out his phone to leech free wifi from a convenience store, searched Google Maps, and found a nearby recycling center.

He jogged all the way to the destination, bags in tow, ready to sell the cans.

The recycling center was situated at a triangular intersection, about the size of a basketball court, with a red Citroën parked in the yard. Inside were bottles, cans, garbage, weighing scales, tires, and cardboard boxes, but mostly sorted.

The electronic screen displayed today's recycling prices.

Clear beverage bottles, $1.32 per pound.

Aluminum cans, $1.60 per pound.

Cardboard, $0.01 per pound.

Glass bottles, $0.10 per pound.

It seemed a bit lower than the prices at the recycling center Dominic mentioned but still fair, and Allen Zhang didn't want to go too far.

In the meantime, he saw several scavengers pushing carts filled with large and small bags, arriving in succession from all directions, likely homeless from other streets.

Among them were even those dressed fashionably—Adidas Clover sweatshirts, MLB baseball caps, Puma running shoes, Apple Bluetooth earphones. They came in a black Ranger pickup truck, blasting music.

Getting out of the truck, they took out large and small packages.

At first, he thought they had come to sell household trash, but after some probing, he found they were also in the business of can recycling, apparently controlling several city blocks and cooperating with others in gang operations, specifically recycling in the Rich District.

The loot box drop rate in the Rich District is damn high.

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Each of them earns at least three thousand US dollars a week.

On the West Coast, even trash picking is about controlling territories.

To grow big and strong, you need to seize land and secure more loot box rights.

Without a certain backing or strength, you really can't do this job; it's easy to step on toes and cause conflicts.

To avoid such risks, you can only scavenge in ordinary areas, picking up what people leave behind in the loot boxes by the curbside.

But the competition in ordinary areas is intense, with too many scavengers, and daily earnings severely decline, barely enough for subsistence.

In the United States, selling cardboard can even lead to bankruptcy, because it's worth next to nothing. In the past, some Chinese made a fortune by processing cardboard into pulp and shipping it back home! That was until laws banning the transport of foreign waste were freshly implemented, causing this profession to fade away.

Allen Zhang patiently waited in line outside for the weight check, and soon it was his turn.

The bags full of bottles and cans were handed over to the staff, who noticed that they weren't sorted properly; they were a mess, not at all what a qualified scavenger would bring.

"Next time you better sort them first, sir."

The worker reminded him, then started sorting and weighing the items with an electronic scale.

Aluminum cans, 16 pounds, $25.60.

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Transparent beverage bottles, 9 pounds, $11.88.

Glass bottles, 21 pounds, $2.1.

Total $39.58.

Just by sitting back and reaping the rewards, clearing half a street, I made dozens of dollars in a little while.

Picking up trash on the West Coast really does make money!

Depending on trash picking to start a business, making a million a year isn't impossible!!

The recycling center staff issued him a validation slip and told Allen Zhang to exchange it for cash at the next window.

"Hey buddy, where did you come from to collect so many cans?"

Allen Zhang took the cash from the exchange window, pocketing it and preparing to leave.

The previous few scavengers came up with some surprise, "We haven't seen you before?"

"I just got here yesterday, it's normal that you haven't seen me."

Allen Zhang responded calmly, "These cans were picked up from the Carnation Club."

"The strip club on Hopson Street? Isn't that territory of Ethan and his guys?"

Several scavengers were surprised.

They also remembered those white drunkards who liked to form cliques, get drunk, and send their leaves flying.

Originally just poor ghosts from the slums, obsessed with betting on sports until they lost even their underpants, then got hooked on leaves, strongly addicted to opiates, and if they didn't get a hit or a fix every day, they felt miserable. Eventually, they couldn't afford rent, went bankrupt, and were driven out.

"I remember they took that turf from some kid named Dominic," someone said.

"Who's Dominic?" another asked in surprise.

"A pretty well-off white 'girl' on the streets, lots of people are eyeing his ass. But I hear little Lori gets to play with his ass every day, damn envy-worthy! Hahaha, just kidding!"

A scavenger made a somewhat crude joke, evoking laughter from the crowd.

"Dominic is my friend, I don't want to hear anyone speak ill of my friend!"

Allen Zhang listened to their conversation, which was turning filthier, and understood that these guys were potential competitors, eyeing them with an unfriendly gaze.

"What you're talking about, this Ethan got his ass kicked by me. From now on, that street belongs to us, Lori Louis 19, and I don't want to see other vagrants picking bottles there! Otherwise, I'll make sure to crack their heads open! Understand?"

His threatening words were not quite enough, so he rolled up his sleeves, revealing impressively muscular forearms.

His fists cracked as he clenched them.

"Sure thing, buddy." The scavengers needed only one look to feel their eyelids twitch uncontrollably.

Are you really a vagrant, and not some sort of bodybuilder or street boxing champion?

Which version of vagrant has such an excellent physique?

In the current environment of the weak and sick on the streets, having those muscles is like a dimension-crushing Berserker.

Truly T0 level!

They immediately discarded any impractical thoughts.

Watching Allen Zhang walk away, the group remained silent for a long time.

"If Lori Louis 19 takes over that place, we won't be able to go there to wash windows and beg anymore, will we? Damn it, the income from that street was considerable!" someone suddenly lamented, clutching their head in regret.

He had already made arrangements with Ethan and his guys, asking them to take care of him so he wouldn't be robbed or hassled, but now the plan was going to fall through.

"He only said we can't pick up cans, not that we can't wash windows or panhandle."

A nearby scavenger consoled, "At most, he can only take over the trash bins on that street; does he really think he can monopolize an entire street?"

"That street is MC's turf, and the club's owner is also a key member of Hell's Angels; they can call over a bunch of Biker Gang members just like that! How could we homeless folks dare to provoke gang members? We're on two parallel lines, it's impossible for us to have any intersection!"

"You're right!" The homeless breathed a sigh of relief.

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