"Welcome to my home."
Following Dominic, I arrived at Bridge Hole No. 19 in the fifth block of Los Angeles. Dominic set his handbag down, spread his arms, a wide grin on his face, and stood proudly on a stone, declaring his territorial sovereignty.
I took in this unique bridge hole. Two blue double tents stood neatly. The surrounding area was surprisingly clean, with a solar lamp whose charging line connected to a solar panel hanging on the wall. An old sofa occupied a corner, and a smoke-blackened oil drum served as a makeshift fire pit. Iron nails embedded in the wall stretched a line, from which several clothes hung. Next to the blue tent, black plastic bags overflowed with collected cans.
To be honest, the living conditions here were far better than I'd imagined! Except for the lack of bathing facilities, no heating, and an unstable power supply, it felt like a renovated, comfortable den. Truly worthy of being the "wandering god's" two-and-a-half-year base camp.
New map unlocked.
"You just leave the cans here? Aren't you afraid someone will steal them?" I asked, confused. He was out hunting during the day; who was guarding his home?
"Don't worry," Dominic said. "There are a lot of homeless people around here, but they're basically familiar faces. I know every one of them. Ordinary strangers who come here will be driven out. Surviving on the streets isn't difficult. You just need to follow the rules and you won't be troubled."
Dominic then turned over a sign with colorful graffiti. At first glance, it looked like a funny little yellow duck. He smiled. "See this? This is the logo of Lawrence 'Lori' Louis 19. It's a group formed by friends who've lived in the nearby Bridge Hole Camp for a long time. You know, as long as everyone is one family, you don't have to worry about being stolen, and others won't dare to bully you."
"Sometimes the shelter doesn't provide relief services for a long time, and life gets really hard. Other people on the street will even invite you to go shopping in 24-hour supermarkets and discount stores on nearby streets."
"..."
Do they really make stealing sound so fresh and refined?
"If you meet a group of black people wearing red or blue clothes on the street, I suggest you don't hesitate. Just turn around and leave that place!" Dominic warned me with serious intensity. He then meticulously detailed the local gangs, their distribution maps across Los Angeles, and the grim rules of street survival.
I was clearly standing under the lighthouse of human civilization, yet it felt as if I'd been dropped into the brutal 'dark forest' rulebook. Was this the legendary West Coast? I doubted my entire life.
The local gangs in Los Angeles were incredibly complex, with a bewildering number of large and small factions, some beyond my wildest imagination. I'd only known about them from movies and Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, but reality was far worse. This was the West Coast. If you accidentally wandered into gang territory, lingered a few seconds too long, or even looked at a black guy the wrong way, they truly wouldn't tolerate you. Several men might surround you, greet you with a "fuck you," or even choose to "shoot!"
Gangs permeated every block in Los Angeles, with Block 13 being the most concentrated – it even had documentaries made about it. The most infamous African-American gangs were the Crips and Bloods, mortal enemies, one red and the other blue – a classic, deadly rivalry.
Hispanic (Latino) gangs included California 18th Street, Florence 13, and MS13. 18th Street was the undisputed overlord of Los Angeles gangs, battling Florence 13th for supremacy, a force neither Crips nor Bloods dared to provoke.
MS13, sandwiched between them, largely survived on scraps, profiting from drug trafficking, extortion, and human trafficking.
Motorcycle (speeding) gangs like the Hells Angels MC Motorcycle Club and the Desperado Motorcycle Club were also prevalent. The Hell Angels, ostensibly a religious organization with club characteristics, boasted strict discipline. Founded by WWII veterans and Harley enthusiasts, they preached free riding and punishing evil, promoting good. Yet, their hands were far from clean.
Their main income stream is from arms trading, drug dealing, and monopolizing pornographic entertainment venues. Almost every strip club branch ran a gang wealth-making project: a 'leaf planting house.' The advantage was a short growth cycle and quick money; a single house could bring in over $40,000 USD weekly after just a month of cultivation. The Desperado, in contrast, were an unorganized, undisciplined band of lawless young white men and mentally unstable individuals, often riding across states to commit indiscriminate crimes and murders.
Other gangs included the Mafia, Asian Boys, Chinese Youth, Bamboo Union, Aryan Brotherhood, and countless smaller street crews.
As Dominic had explained, "Lawrence Louis 19" wasn't a gang at all. At most, it was a mutual aid association for homeless people around Bridge Hole No. 19 in the fifth block – a sort of beggar gang. Many such groups existed: drug addicts congregated with drug addicts, homeless people with homeless people, scavengers with scavengers. Though all homeless, they remained in distinct circles.
Most drug addicts and beggars in impoverished areas were controlled by gangs, forced to pay protection fees and provide sexual services. The streets at night were incredibly dangerous.
As a homeless person, you truly couldn't survive without the warmth of a group. Street homeless gangs had their own interest-based frictions but occasionally engaged in common activities, like "shopping" in supermarkets. Typically, nearby smaller gangs would take the lead, lobbying homeless organizations and slum residents, even offering money, 'leaves,' and baseball bats to encourage active participation in these "errand activities." Refusal meant exclusion; the black gangs wouldn't invite you to "play" next time, and you'd be last in line for food at the shelter. "If you dare to report me, just try. If you try, you'll die."
But Lawrence rarely participated in such errands, as most members were self-reliant, only resorting to free "shopping" when truly desperate.
Dominic then briefly introduced me to the homeless friends living in Bridge Hole No. 19. I didn't remember most of them well, but one old black man stuck in my mind: Lawrence Louis 19 was named after him.
Lawrence 'Lori' Louis was a towering man, two meters and one centimeter tall. He was a former star football player, a forward at the No. 3 position, and had even been involved in gangs. But an accident injured his knee, leaving him with a permanent limp that ended his career. His garage was mortgaged, he couldn't pay his college tuition loans, his credit was blacklisted, and he couldn't find a job, forcing him onto the streets. He received unemployment benefits for six months initially, a tough period, but then the payments simply stopped—he didn't know who pocketed the money.
Now he subsisted by picking up garbage and cleaning the windows of passing vehicles with a bucket, living in a daze. All the money he earned went to buying 'leaves,' and he relied on relief meals for food, living like a drunkard. When the bridge hole camp needed a strong presence, they'd pull him out. After all, a two-meter-one-centimeter height was truly intimidating! Who wouldn't be scared? The old black man lived on the east side of Bridge Hole No. 19, serving as a human deterrent.
With him there, ordinary homeless people truly dared not trespass. Even nearby gangs gave him face, respecting his past as a star athlete and his influence among black people. If he didn't cause trouble, the younger gang members left him alone.
I didn't know much about rugby, but I'd heard that people with poor physical fitness played basketball, while those who could endure rugby were exceptionally strong. A pity. If he hadn't played rugby and instead played basketball, he might have been another O'Neal!
"So, if I want to live here for a long time and don't want to be harassed or chased by police officers, do I need to pay dues to Little Lawrence every month? And can I be sure the police won't drive me away?" I finally voiced the questions in my heart.
"Don't worry about it, Alan. This place belongs to an abandoned city area. Usually, no police officers come here. If there's an emergency, friends will notify you in advance."
"You don't need to pay any fees to live here. Everyone gathers together spontaneously. But if someone is bullied, you also need to stand up and help your own people. You have to be clean! Otherwise, you'll end up sleeping on the street like everyone else, getting chased around every day, and dying at any time. That's the real unorganized homeless."
"People like us are actually entrepreneurs. Some people will leave the streets sooner or later."
"But you'd better not get too close to people on the street, because they often do some bad things," Dominic concluded.
Start a business by buying and picking up waste?
It's actually a good idea.
A temporary low period is really nothing.