I want to have a date with Superman

"Why did you stop? There are so many viewers. Even if it's not for money, as an artist you should continue to perform with dedication!" Seeing Harley starting to pack her backpack and prepare to leave, the addict asked strangely.

"I'm a singer, not a juggler. I have my own perseverance." Harley looked calm and quickly fished money from the iron bucket.

Frank, in less than half an hour, the paper bills and coins totaled nearly two hundred dollars.

No wonder the crime rate in Gotham is so high and outsiders flock to it.

This is hell and heaven!

As long as you find the right way, you can make money very quickly.

"Can you lend me a ten-dollar knife?" The addict's face was full of envy.

Harley glanced at his guitar case, which contained just a few nickels and ten cents.

"I'll give you five dollars to buy a big hamburger and a carton of milk."

The young man struggled for a while, then gritted his teeth and said, "A five-dollar knife will do!"

Carrying a bag and a metal bucket, Harley left Lower Manhattan.

She couldn't stay in one place for too long.

Originally, she had just come from Times Square and planned to rest here until nightfall.

However, although her unintentional busking brought her a lot of money, it also made her famous in this neighborhood.

Being famous is the last thing she wants at this stage.

Underground tunnel at the entrance to the subway station.

It's literally a bum's club.

From the stairwell to the subway platform, homeless people of different ages can be seen everywhere.

Harley is one of them.

She originally planned to take the subway to Naihe Island to spend the night, and even bought a ticket. However, after staying on the platform for a while, she found that it was particularly warm here.

Well, it's certainly not warm, but compared to the harsh wind in the streets above ground, it's really comfortable here.

So, like the homeless people, she spread the blanket behind a cement pillar and wrapped herself in a ball.

From three o'clock in the afternoon, I slept until dark.

After waking up, she didn't "get up" because she didn't know where she should go or what she should do.

"Perhaps, losing life goals and ideals is the greatest sorrow for homeless people." She covered her head and felt deeply in her heart.

"Can you give me some pocket money? I'm hungry. Just twenty cents is enough." Opposite her, an old man in a brown coat had his shoulders hunched, one hand in his pocket, and the other flat. He stretched out his stall and begged every passer-by.

Next to him, there was an old woman with gray hair lying.

The old woman, like Harry, was wrapped in a dark, greasy, thick down quilt, even her head was tucked into it.

"Hey, give me a dollar, man Fuck, you bastard, you'll die if you give me some money!" The unshaven old man began to curse.

The pedestrians waiting for the bus were getting farther and farther away from him.

"Give me ten cents. I'm really hungry. I'm so cold and hungry." The man squatted on the ground weakly, leaning against the old woman's duvet, and continued to stretch his right hand forward.

"Give me some money! We haven't eaten for a long time." The voice was weak, like a dying person.

Harley couldn't help it anymore. These two old men were not only husbands but also old friends. It was so pitiful to be so hungry.

Just as she was about to throw in a five-dollar bill, a young man and woman dressed fashionably walked past her, talking and laughing.

"Friend, how long has it been since you had a meal?" The man wearing a brand new goose down jacket chuckled.

The homeless man suddenly stood up and said excitedly: "Kind sir, my wife and I haven't eaten for two days. It's snowing in Jesus' butt and eyes every day, and the cold weather is really unbearable."

The young man in the down jacket smiled contemptuously, stretched out his hand and handed over three ten-cent coins. The homeless man took them happily, but suddenly he turned his hand over and the coins clinked on the concrete floor.

"Hahaha!" He smiled very happily as if he had played a funny game.

"Stop it, Hambani!" the female companion said, holding his arm.

"Lucy, look, he doesn't care at all." The young man pointed at the homeless man lying on the ground picking up money, and raised the corner of his mouth, "Poor waste!"

The homeless man took the money and ran out of the underground passage as quickly as a rabbit.

Harry frowned, what can you eat for thirty cents?

A hot dog?

"What a poor man, he must be starving." Lucy looked at his retreating back and said with pity and worry.

"Dear, this has nothing to do with us," the young man hugged her, talking enthusiastically, "First of all, they themselves are not up to par, either they are not working hard enough, or they are not smart enough, and they have become the scum of society that has been eliminated; in addition, the rescue from the city hall The work of distributing benefits was not done well, and the social welfare institutions were left with nothing to do.”

"At least you should give him more money, thirty cents won't buy you anything," the woman said.

"Well, even if I give him a dollar, it will only be a drop in the bucket for his miserable life, not to mention that he is not alone." The young man glanced at the old woman lying on the ground like a corpse.

The roar of the subway as it entered the station suppressed the conversation between the two. When the door opened, the man and woman immediately walked up holding hands.

Half an hour later, the homeless man who disappeared before appeared again, with a smile of joy and expectation on his face.

But he had no hot dogs or other food in his hand.

He returned to his original position, leaned against his wife, rolled up his sleeves, and took out a syringe filled with transparent liquid.

Harley sighed and covered her head again.

In just two minutes, the old woman's shrill howl woke her up and attracted everyone else.

The old tramp was lying on the ground, twitching like crazy, foaming at the mouth, and his breath was fading.

The old woman cried and called his name, trying to hold him down, but she couldn't do it anyway.

Soon, two subway patrol officers arrived. They only rolled the homeless man's eyelids and immediately announced that resuscitation efforts were ineffective and that the man had lost all vital signs, and were ready to take the body away.

"He's still convulsing. You should call 911 and call an ambulance," the old woman begged.

"Do you have money?" the patrolman said coldly.

"I" the old woman was speechless.

It is common knowledge that you need to pay to call an ambulance in the United States.

"Save people first and let the welfare agency pay." Harley interjected.

"This is none of your business," the patrolman snapped.

With that said, he and his companions carried the "body" away.

What shocked Harry was that no one onlookers stopped him.

Not long after, another subway arrived at the station, the old people left, new people came in, and the homeless man's death disappeared into the sea like waves.

The old woman was left sitting on the duvet wiping her tears.

Harley got up and picked up the syringe that had been kicked into the corner by someone.

She was very curious. Thirty cents converted into RMB, just over two yuan, could fly such a big tube?

I brought it up to my nose and smelled it. There was the pungent smell of hydrogen peroxide. It seemed like disinfectant?

"Can disinfectant also make you high?" Harry was confused.

Even detergents can get you high, and she's a little unsure.

Of course, the disinfectant cannot be high!

Thirty cents can't even buy an auntie leaf.

Faced with the homeless man's pleading, the street vendor took the trouble to viciously give him a tube of disinfectant, falsely claiming that it was the latest "flying agent."

"John, John, ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo" the old woman cried so hard that she almost lost control of her body and fell to the side, with snot, tears, and saliva flowing from her nose.

Harley sighed, left the guitar and the bucket where they were, and walked out of the subway station with only her bag on her back.

About a quarter of an hour later, she ran back with two convenience bags.

A KFC Family Bucket, two 1.5-liter bottles of Coke, a large box of preserved egg and lean meat porridge, and a large bottle of milk.

"Hi, my name is Diana." Harley handed the meat porridge to the old woman, placing the family bucket between them.

She looked at the old woman carefully, her eyes full of doubts.

I was so sad before, but now I am dozing off against the concrete pillar.

"My child, you are so kind. May God bless you." The old man must be very hungry. He took the paper bowl and ate without any courtesy.

Originally, Hallie was worried that the elderly person had indigestion and was not suitable for eating fried chicken drumsticks, but he didn't want her to have a mouthful of porridge and a mouthful of chicken drumsticks. It made Hallie think of being full of life.

Something's wrong!

How can an old woman eat so well?

Oh, it’s a good thing she can eat, but she was heartbroken over her husband’s death before!

Now her expression is calmer than the lake in spring, her eyes are clear and gentle, without sadness, anger or despair.

Is this old guy trying to trick her?

Not right either.

Harley herself wasn't sure she could be kind.

There are more than 100,000 homeless people in Gotham. She has seen too many tragic things these days, and she has always stood by with a look of indifference.

The reason why she was able to be kind today was not because she was really kind, but because she made a lot of money by "performing" during the day, which lowered the cost of being kind.

The old woman's sudden change made the atmosphere between the two of them a bit tense. It made Harry feel uncomfortable. The chicken drumstick in her mouth tasted the same as chewing wax.

Suddenly, the sound of crying not far away aroused her idea.

"Ahem!" The black-haired woman in a black sweater knelt on the ground, crying and hiccupping.

"It's too heavy, I feel so uncomfortable! So much pain, so much despair, oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong pain and despair emanating from the black-haired woman was almost so rich that it became a substance.

Anyone who saw her or heard her cry would have no doubt that she had just experienced an extremely tragic accident.

Harry looked at the woman, and then at the old woman who was eating and drinking with a satisfied look on her face, and always felt a little weird.

Maybe it's not very kind to think like this, but the performance of the two of them should be reversed.

Just as she was thinking this, the black-haired woman turned her head, her eyes mixed with surprise and sorrow, and met Harley's curious eyes.

"What's the matter with you?" Harley couldn't help but ask.

The woman is in her early twenties, has a delicate face with a bit of baby fat, and a gentle and compassionate temperament. At first glance, people think she is a kind and good girl.

The black-haired woman shook her head and stood up, ready to leave.

Harley trotted over, supported her and said, "Did you do something to that old woman? Don't deny it, I saw something in your eyes."

"I"

Something strange happened. As the woman became excited, the shadow beneath her twisted like a living thing.

Vaguely, Harry seemed to see a raven with its wings spread high.

"Shit, we encountered a supernatural incident."

This Raven, Rachel Ross, is the previous life of Raven Girl in Teen Titans.

In DC, Raven is definitely one of the top five most popular female characters. She is good-looking, mysterious, powerful, and extremely kind.

Could the raven here be too old?

Raven is already older, but she has a loli appearance. In other words, Raven had to "die" several times (not completely dead, just lost her body) before she could get the familiar "high school girl" body.