American fame and fortune

With Dogwood Festival over, Atlanta's 2003 Spring Fling has officially come to an end.

In a community in the outer satellite city of Marietta, Martin Davis walked into the living room with his legs turned, protesting with pain from his broken knee.

He has only been in North America for a week and is still getting used to it.

On the bare wooden wall of the living room, there were two yellowed posters.

One is the cover of a certain edition of Gone with the Wind.

The other is the T1000 from Terminator 2.

Martin sat on the cloth sofa, his nose was itchy from the flying dust, and the sneeze that was about to explode was disintegrated by the hard object poking his ass.

Rusty, broken springs burst through discolored sponges and non-wovens.

Martin cussed and sat on the other side with his hips shifted, the damaged sponge cushions caved in, soft as some Dany's oversized balloon, enveloping key points.

His heart ached suddenly.

Since it is a balloon, it is even more difficult to survive the future.

Martin has drifted north and south for many years, honing his acting skills step by step, learning related abilities, and even serving as a martial artist for several years, and finally relying on sharpening his head to drill camp, he managed to get some small supporting roles.

At the beginning of the new year, Martin worked to a supporting role that could rank among the top five in the crew.

If the TV series is broadcast smoothly, and it lasts another five or six years, maybe it can be called an old drama player.

Martin, a good drinker, found someone to celebrate wildly, drank a few self-mixed cocktails, buried his head in two oversized balloons, and fell asleep, possibly having difficulty breathing, which led to the tragedy.

When I woke up again, I came to Georgia in 2003.

The former Martin Davis is not doing well. His most recent job was a house repairman. He fell from the roof a week ago and broke his leg and head.

Martin stepped in and became the 22-year-old Martin Davis, but part of the memory of his predecessor in the United States, like a program that needs to be decoded, is running relatively slowly for the time being.

This week, Martin spent most of his time familiarizing himself with the language, and gradually he was able to communicate normally.

The door opened from the outside at this time, and Elena Carter, with her brown hair tied into a ponytail, came in with a key on her hook. Her younger brother Harris Carter followed behind with a paper bag in his arms.

Elena has exquisite facial features, a tall figure, and no freckles that are common to white people on her smooth face. As soon as she entered the door, she said, "Is your brain alright? Can you speak normally?"

Martin directly returned the middle finger, as if he had done it countless times: "What do you know? When you drop your head, your IQ doubles."

Elena held her head high, and her white hoodie was raised to an exaggerated height: "Very well, hurry up and find a job, I don't want to give the slacker another week of meals, I still have two little kids to raise, can't raise them?" miss you."

During the week when Martin was injured, the four brothers and sisters Elena next door came to deliver meals.

"According to Dr. Bill, the probability of your recovery in a week is as high as 70 percent." Harris Carter put the paper bag on the low wooden table and said, "The church gave out free bread, this time there is fried chicken."

He turned around and left: "Bill has been in the business for two months, and healed twenty sheep and thirty-five cows without any mistakes."

Before leaving the house, Harris turned his head: "The bicycle is mine today, and I will help people with their homework."

"You two idiots, take me to the veterinarian!" Martin swears, and takes the paper bag unceremoniously.

Elena sat down next to Martin, touched her buttocks, and said, "You don't have medical insurance like shit, and I don't have the money to take you to a regular clinic. Bill used to live on this street, no Charge us for medical treatment."

Martin took out the bread and ate the fried chicken. Reflecting on the injury and his previous job, he said, "The home repairer owes me two weeks' salary, and this injury. I'm going to figure out a way to get more money."

His pockets are cleaner than his face, he is extremely poor, and certain thoughts automatically jump out.

"You'd better make more money!" Elena grabbed a piece of bread and took a bite: "What you ate this week, and what you ate and drank in the past few months, I don't want to share with you, a poor man." Care about. But the rent for this house, your bastard dad hasn't paid for half a year."

She widened her eyes, fiercer than the towering mountain: "The most shitty thing, your father abducted my mother this Monday, and eloped in the name of true love and freedom!"

These words reminded Martin. He searched his memory and found sadly that he was not as simple as a poor ghost.

A month before Jack Davis took Emma Carter away, Martin Davis asked the boss of the Beast House to borrow usury for 6,000 US dollars.

The two patted their buttocks and happily traveled around the world, leaving two messes behind.

Martin said in a low voice: "The usury loan repaid in installments, the first installment will be paid soon."

"Go and ask God to bless you." Elena shrugged. There is no cheap sympathy among poor ghosts.

Martin shook his head and said, "God doesn't bless the poor."

"It will soon be the review day of the disability subsidy this year. My uncle James' subsidy has been collected by Jack all these years. Jack has left a memory. Now he has eloped with Emma, ​​and the subsidy is about to end." Changed to Elena Distressed and crazy: "How can I maintain this damn life without money?"

Just as Martin was about to ask a question, he remembered that the house belonged to James Carter, and said, "Your uncle died eight years ago and ate the wrong flour."

"I'm sure now that your brain is not broken." Elena didn't care at all, pointing to the grove behind the house: "James is buried there."

She was worried a few days ago that Martin fell from a poor ghost to an idiot and a poor ghost, and he would have to raise another one in the future. At this time, she was relieved and said lightly: "James is lucky to be free from the pain of the poor ghost. It is you who buried his pit." Dig with me."

"Damn it!" Martin had a headache. The poor in hell had an incurable disease.

Elena took out the mobile phone with the paint on the shell, looked at the time, stood up and said, "I should go to the mall as a rush."

Martin casually reassured: "Don't worry, you can always find a way out."

Elena looked at the T1000 poster and said, "Don't be a free worker in that damn theater company. He never went back to the Marietta Theater Company after he became famous."

What Martin thinks now is to solve the basic living problems first, and replied: "Don't worry, I won't give people free jobs."

Because Martin Davis has a criminal record, Elena warned again before going out: "Poor man, if you can't do it, I will settle accounts with you, calculate how many times you clapped with me, and how much you have to pay me." Money! Also, I will call the Beast House Club and tell them that you are willing to be a gigolo to pay off your debts! Think about why they are willing to lend you a loan shark!"

"Don't you have to pay for things like applause? I'll give you hundreds of millions of goods every time!" Martin said as a matter of course.

Elena raised her hands above her head, sending out two middle fingers.

After Martin finished the bread and fried chicken, there was food in his stomach, and his legs didn't seem to hurt anymore.

After tidying up briefly, he went out and stood under the sun, and he looked at it a little.

Marietta belongs to a small southern suburban town with a vast land and few people. Even Clayton, the dilapidated community where Martin lives, has a small yard in front of each detached wooden house.

Next door, in the tangled yard of broken barbed wire, a boy was digging a pit with cardboard at his feet.

This is Elena's ten-year-old brother.

A vintage Dodge pickup, spray-painted with dancing men and the words "House of the Beast" scribbled down the cracked road.

The car stopped on the side of the road, and the muscular man in the jacket who got out of the car looked at Martin and asked, "Martin Davis?"

A new book is released, please support, collection, monthly pass and investment, just come. The new book is an entertainment business article with an American background, and I intend to use a new writing method from a different angle.