"Good morning, Alan. It's not even ten o'clock yet. Aren't you up too early?" Dominic rubbed her sleepy eyes, her blonde hair a dishevelled shawl around her face.
Damn, this damn sense of déjà vu. It would be so nice if you were a woman. You must have suffered a lot on weekdays.
"Dude, it's time to eat. The early bird catches the worm. You don't want to stay under the bridge for the rest of your life, do you?" Alan urged.
"You're right, but I still want to sleep for a while. If possible, can you bring me a meal?" Dominic listlessly rejected his invitation to explore.
"Okay, no problem."
"Thank you, buddy!"
Alan looked at the tent, now closed again, feeling a little helpless. It seemed that on his first day of settling in, he'd have to forage for food alone. In addition to the sweet air of the "free West Coast," the homeless here truly seemed to live as they pleased, only doing what they liked. There was no other way. He was living in a remote spot, still without his own tent or property, and he felt too embarrassed to bother Dominic again.
Alan conserved water, washed up simply, and then stepped out of the comfortable bridge hole. He stretched his muscles and bones in the open space, performed a set of air strike training, and then began warming up and running. He'd always maintained a good fitness habit, his body lean and strong, naturally more robust than ordinary people since childhood—the kind with "amazing bones." To not waste his talent, he'd also systematically studied mixed martial arts at the suggestion of friends. He'd fought many street battles and private bounty matches, boasting a career record of 72 wins, 2 losses, 2 draws, and 66 KOs. Great strength makes miracles happen.
When he'd returned with Dominic yesterday, it was dark, and he couldn't see anything on the roadside. Now, Alan noticed the colorful graffiti and whimsical little yellow ducks adorning various buildings along the road. From Bridge Hole No. 19 to the abandoned construction site street, the entire stretch essentially belonged to the territory of "Lawrence Louis 19." This was a unique aspect of American street culture, akin to a dog marking its territory.
Many colorful, grave-like tents clustered near the bridge hole and the shelter. Empty bottles, piles of burned garbage, and blackened oil drums littered the roadside—truly a "beautiful scenery."
From a distance, Alan saw a dishevelled Black girl emerge from her tent, stretching her waist towards the sky. Her figure was undeniably striking, with generous curves. Damaged skateboards and a Target folding bicycle were parked outside her camouflage tent. The "female donor" on the West Coast was truly uninhibited, seemingly unconcerned about her exposure early in the morning. Her wheat-colored buttocks gleamed like silk in the sun. He had to admit, her skin was indeed the smoothest and most delicate he had ever seen.
Wait a minute, what is she squatting there for…?
"Shit! A fountain!" Alan was shocked. How could she be so bold? Perhaps she assumed no one else would be awake at this hour. The female donor squatted by the roadside, finished relieving herself, then dazedly picked up purified water and a toothbrush to wash up.
Alan trotted over, took a good look at her, and waved enthusiastically. "Hey, good morning! Girl, you have a great figure! Do you have a boyfriend?"
The Black girl stared at him, dumbfounded by the strange man's admiring gaze. She choked, stood up abruptly, tears welling in her eyes, and cursed, "Fxxk! Where did you come from, you bastard?"
Alan stopped and watched the Black girl scramble back into her tent to find clothes. When she re-emerged, Alan quickly explained, "Sorry, I didn't mean it. I'm new here. You can call me Alan."
"Simone." The Black girl, now wearing a beige tank top and camouflage cargo shorts, looked at him unhappily. "Man, you're lucky. My boyfriend broke up with me a while ago. Otherwise, if he were here, he would definitely give you a good beating!"
"Oh, I'm really sorry. But you are so beautiful, your boyfriend is willing to break up with you? Is he blind?" Alan sounded genuinely surprised.
Simone's expression softened considerably at the stranger's praise; her anger instantly dissipated. She sighed helplessly, "It's complicated, Bro! But relationships are like this. There will always be friction for various reasons when you are together. But I took the initiative to dump him! Because he is an uncontrollable drug addict, I will not end well if I am with him."
She explained that her ex had been taking ketamine constantly, which was why he ended up on the street. He had agreed to go to drug rehabilitation and even tried to find a job to pay off his debts, but he relapsed after just a few days and stole her money. She caught him in the act, but he refused to admit it.
She couldn't stand it anymore and kicked him out! What was even more unbearable was that he was tall and handsome, but ultimately useless. He'd been popular in high school, often skipping classes for nightclubs and strip clubs, completely ruining himself. Later, he'd worked out obsessively to cover his inferiority complex, becoming addicted to protein powder, taking painkillers while working out, and using ketamine… In the end, he developed prostate hyperplasia, nephritis, and hair loss. He was originally a "short and quick shooter," but now he was "soft," unable to get an erection without Viagra.
"What's the difference between him and a waste?" she concluded. "That man is just a loser."
Alan understood the whole story. To apologize, he immediately offered, "Since we're neighbors, if your ex comes to harass you and cause you trouble next time, you can come to me for help. Just to make up for my mistake this time, I live in the west section of the No. 19 bridge tunnel." He flexed his fist. "Don't worry, I will give your ex a lesson he will never forget. I will beat him up badly on the ground!"
Simone looked unconvinced. "Bro. Are you kidding me?" She eyed the tall, thin Alan, who was at most 1.85 meters tall. His wide, hooded sweatshirt concealed his muscles, making him unremarkable in a crowd.
Alan said confidently, "Don't underestimate me, I am an Asian UFO mixed martial arts boxer, you know! As a boxer, the thing I am least afraid of is street fighting. Others call me Asian Mike Tyson!!"
"UFO? You should be talking about the MMA mixed martial arts event UFC, right?" Alan's words left the Black girl speechless.
He really thinks I'm a local and have never seen the live broadcast of the game, right? She even had an autographed photo of Conor McGregor, a collector's edition in mummy form, left by her ex as a breakup fee because he was too poor to offer anything else.
"It's called a UFO in our country. Only alien fighting can accommodate a player like me." Alan smiled confidently. "Girl, I have to say that you are really lucky. A weakling like your ex doesn't deserve you at all. Thanks to you for waking up in time and getting rid of him, you can meet me today!"
Simone laughed despite herself, amused by his optimism and confidence. It had to be said that sometimes, foreigners really bought into this—the more confident you were, the more charming you appeared.