Chapter 12 "Wind Fortune" (12) Scrap Car Treatment Plant

After get off work, tired workers are waiting for the bus.

rain,

A light drizzle.

someone said,

York is a sad city, and God weeps over it.

Roy doesn't think so,

He felt that there was no cure for the city's evils,

The streets were covered with smoke and dust, grease seeped into the cracks of the bricks, and flies were hovering around the corpses of rats killed by wheels. Even God couldn't bear to see it. It might as well rain a little to wash it away.

However, this rainwater is not clean,

Chemical substances mixed in the atmosphere are also brought down by the raindrops.

When I dropped it on the ground, I saw that it was not transparent water droplets, but slightly yellowish.

At the station, most of the workers wore simple raincoats made of garbage bags. Anna held a beautiful umbrella. The umbrella cloth was completely transparent. Through it, you could see the complete umbrella ribs and the hazy sky.

This umbrella stands out among the crowd of garbage bag raincoats, just like her, pure and innocent.

When the rain stopped, a few shirtless gangsters with luminous tattoos all over their bodies whistled at Anna:

"Hey, little girl, your figure is really hot! Look here!"

Roy was furious. He fumbled for his belt, and then he remembered that in order to destroy the evidence, he had smashed the automatic pistol and threw it into the trash.

I couldn't help cursing secretly: (Damn it! I should have kept that gun...)

He was angry, he regretted, but he didn't notice it,

After that incident, my personality has undergone subtle changes.

Always thinking of using violence to solve problems, just like some people in this sinful city.

"We can hide if we can't offend them." Anna said, "Ignore those people."

Unfortunately, this group of street gangsters were not only drunk, but also drugged. They were in an extremely excited state. With excess adrenaline, they wanted to cause trouble for everyone they saw, and they did not want to let go of the beautiful girl in front of them.

"Hey, little girl, are you fucking deaf? I'm calling you!"

Roy couldn't bear it anymore and cursed:

"X you X! Get away!"

The ending can be imagined. The gangsters gathered around him shouting and cursing. Roy knocked down one of them, and then he was swarmed by the gangsters and gave him a beating.

A quarter of an hour later, Roy was leaning against the window of the train, with toilet paper stuffed in his nose to stop bleeding. Anna was using a strip of cloth to bandage the wound on the back of his hand:

"My dear, you are so brave.

But I don’t want to see you get hurt, so don’t pay attention to those bastards in the future. It doesn’t matter if you get scolded a few times, and you won’t lose a piece of meat.”

"I know, don't worry."

Roy said this, but he had other thoughts in his heart.

The life of a worker is tiring and boring,

In the following week, Roy was in a state of extreme nervousness all the time.

Whenever he encountered patrols or gang members, he would avoid them and stay far away.

Whether on the production line in the factory or lying in bed at home, he was always thinking about the bag of money he had hidden, but he did not have the courage to take a look.

He didn't dare,

He fears,

Afraid of being ambushed and afraid of losing his life.

In the nightmare, he was shot to pieces countless times, and a group of gang members fed his body to the dogs. Then he woke up in a cold sweat, looked at his sleeping lover next to him, his heartbeat was racing, and he had to smoke a cigarette in the dark to slow down.

come over.

The nightmares kept happening, and he began to rely on sleeping pills to fall asleep.

If the sense of security is not satisfied, I always feel that I may die suddenly at any time.

Roy obtained a miniature pistol from the black market through a friend's relationship. This exquisite weapon is made of polymer materials, uses batteries as energy source, and fires powerful pulse energy bombs.

Usually disguised as cigarette boxes, they can pass through metal detectors on railways and factories.

He carried the gun close to his body, but despite this, he still lived in fear every day, like walking on pins and needles. Fortunately, the gun never came into use.

By the second week, Roy felt much more relaxed physically and mentally and no longer took sleeping pills.

In the third week, he even forgot his pistol at home several times.

A month later, he had forgotten his fear and was more relaxed than ordinary people.

Roy buys several newspapers every day and only reads the news section.

The police terminated the investigation of the shooting case. The gang members were busy killing each other and committed many horrific murders during this period. No one seemed to care about the whereabouts of the box of money. The dead cannot speak, and money is

His.

The time has come to taste some sweetness.

Roy became bolder. It was a day off, and he and Anna lied and said they were going to visit a sick friend.

After going out, Roy hailed a taxi. The driver was a talkative foreigner. The man spoke with a thick accent, mixed with many slang words from his hometown, and his chatter made Roy tired.

When passing by a shopping street, I suddenly remembered something and got out of the car to buy a bottle of hardcover whiskey priced at 15 yuan, which was a complete luxury.

After a long journey, we arrived at a scrap car processing plant in the southern suburbs of York City.

Although the taxi driver was an annoying chatterbox, his understanding of the road conditions was very good. For this reason, Roy gave him a dollar tip, and the driver started nagging again:

"You helped me! I have three children and four elderly people at home. My wife cannot work because of her disability, so she relies on me to support her. I work more than ten hours a day, and sometimes I sleep in the car when I am too tired... It's really

too difficult!

God bless you, sir!" The taxi driver drove away happily.

(Some people have tried their best just to survive...Who am I to complain?) Roy sighed and walked forward.

The morning in the suburbs was a bit cold, and the wind and sand blew against his exposed skin. He put on his hood and put his hands in his pockets.

The wind made the street sign creak, and a broken tire hung on the iron frame. The iron sign below read in paint:

"Hill Mountain Scrap Car Processing Plant",

The administrator here, Old John, is Roy's friend and he knows where to find him.

Scraped and accidental cars were piled up into hills. Scavengers were rummaging through the tops for usable items, and occasionally parts fell off.

Walking alone through the gaps in the steel maze, Roy felt like a gutter rat traveling through the sewers.

The 100-meter-high garbage mountain was spectacular, and human beings seemed so insignificant. The crows screamed strangely, as if in mockery. Roy stopped in front of a dilapidated RV with no tires and knocked on the door:

"Hello! Brother John! Are you still awake?"

A lazy and impatient voice came from inside the car:

"Ouch... Oops, it's so early in the morning, what the hell are you shouting at, who are you?"

"It's me, Roy."

"You little boy, are you here empty-handed again?"

"I brought the City Wall brand of whiskey, the hardcover edition, your favorite."

There was a loud noise inside the RV, it sounded like someone hit their head, there was a cry, and there was the sound of an empty beer bottle falling to the ground.

The door of the RV was pushed open with a creak, or fell down, and a tall, fat old man with a white beard squeezed out, who was the administrator of this place, Old John.

This person was wearing a faded baseball cap and a stained red plaid shirt, with dried wine stains on the vest underneath.

Her legs were covered with a pair of large, ripped trousers, and her two big furry feet were wearing plastic slippers and wooden clogs. This outfit must have been picked up from the trash.

"Old guy, your clothes are fashionable enough. I guess you will lead the fashion in York City."

"Get out of here, kid, you're burying me again!"

Seeing the handbag placed next to Roy, the old man walked over impatiently.

"This is...a gift for me...wine?" Without waiting for an answer, he had already taken out the packaging box from the bag;

"Oh...yeah! It's a big 900ml bottle. You still understand me best, kid."

After that, the old man roughly tore up the paper packaging like a wolf tearing open a rabbit's throat, took out the wine bottle, unscrewed the cap and took a swig, with a happy expression on his face, and then raised his head again,

Drink it down tons and tons.

Old John was a heavy drinker and gambler.

Being awake for five or six hours out of 24 is considered good, but the little savings I had in my life were all lost on the gambling table.

He got divorced when he was forty years old, and his ex-wife and children stopped contacting him. He just broke down and lived in a garbage dump all day long, living a life of drunkenness and dreams.
Chapter completed!