“Didn’t go into details, seems like something happened with the group he was following, couldn’t get paid, tight on cash.”

“Then go ahead and transfer it, the password is…”

“You’re telling me your password? Aren’t you afraid I’ll spend all your money?”

“Where could you possibly spend it? If you make money investing in funds, I’ll thank you!”

Henry Parker was his best buddy from college, a struggling screenwriter working with a crew, toiling away for ten thousand or so, and often not getting paid.

Evelyn visited for five minutes, then happily skipped off.

For this lonely, independent little girl, the appearance of William Clark might be a gift from above—novel and exciting.

Chapter 10: Friend of the Middle-Aged and Elderly

In the blink of an eye, this guy had been staying at the shelter for three days.

He was proactive, cooperative in conversations, polite, healthy, and managed to win over Uncle Foster’s favor.

This morning at breakfast, a certain homeless and jobless suspicious character was drinking porridge when Uncle Foster showed up again.

“How’s it going, getting used to things these past few days?”

“It’s great, much better than before. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“You’re welcome. Just settle in here, no need to worry. We’re searching in all directions to see if we can find your identity information, or if you have any relatives or friends still alive.

And don’t be shy—everyone here is your family. If you have any difficulties, just speak up. If you’re bored, go play chess, play ball, but don’t wander too far.”

“But I’m not really comfortable interacting with others. Only you and Little Evelyn accept me.”

“Hey, don’t overthink it, don’t feel like people are looking down on you or anything. There were so many cases like this back then—people separated by distance, hiding in the mountains, wandering and begging, separated from family, orphans… none of this is your fault.”

“……”

William Clark lowered his head, looking self-conscious, and said, “I know, I’ll do my best. Uncle Foster, can I go to the club later?”

“Of course, I’ll take you.”

After eating, Old Foster took him outside, to the back of the office building, where there was a long rectangular building with a main entrance labeled “Cultural Activity Center.”

Inside, the space was divided into several rooms: one group singing and dancing, one playing chess and cards, one reading and surfing the internet, and one playing ping pong.

They went to the reading room first. An old man was facing a computer, chuckling to himself. Old Foster frowned and called out, “Mr. Carter? Mr. Carter?”

“So it’s Little Foster, what brings you here?”

The old man was over seventy, skinny, with a small mustache and a rather sleazy look.

“You’re not young anymore, can’t you set a good example for the younger folks and watch less of this indecent stuff?”

“Desire for food and sex is human nature, how is this indecent?”

Old Foster didn’t want to argue. “I brought someone for you. This is a young man we just took in at the shelter, wants to check out the club. Please look after him. Little William, this is Mr. Carter, he’s in charge of cultural activities.”

After a brief introduction, he went off to take care of other things.

Mr. Carter glanced at him, clearly not interested: “Look around as you like. If you don’t understand something, ask the robot. Just don’t damage public property.”

With that, he went back to his computer.

After a while, not hearing any noise and not seeing anyone, he turned around and got a shock—the young man was standing right behind him, staring intently at the screen.

On the screen, a foreign woman was taking off her top, revealing her BRA, wrapping a pair of round, perky, heavy breasts. And she had a slender waist, long neck, charming eyes—seductive as hell.

“You made this?”

“I made it myself, didn’t use any templates. What do you think?”

Mr. Carter had the look of a seasoned old rascal.

“Not that great.”

“What?!!!”

Mr. Carter felt insulted, but before he could get angry, William Clark said, “These breasts look nice, but they’re actually fake.

There are four basic types of breasts: small breasts with a small base—these are small but perky and elegant, commonly called ‘bamboo shoots.’ Large breasts with a small base—these tend to sag, remember, sag! Not droop, commonly called ‘papayas.’

Small breasts with a large base—I personally like this type, looks slim in clothes but feels substantial to the touch, and very stable. Large breasts with a large base are usually hemispherical, commonly called ‘water drops.’”

“Oh!”

“And I think the lips could be a bit fuller, but the eyes must be clear—that’s called pure yet seductive.”

“Oh, oh!”

“White women don’t care much about being slim, so the waist can be a bit fuller, the butt a bit bigger. As the saying goes, ‘a big butt is better than the sky, happiness like a god…’”

“Oh, oh, oh!”

Mr. Carter’s mustache was practically curling up, looking at him like he was his own grandson: “Sit, sit, sit, let me pour you some water. Did you come up with all this yourself?”

“Yes, sorry to make you laugh.”

“No, no, what you said sounds natural. What I made really is fake.”

Nonsense! I was describing the world-class beauty—Monica Bellucci.

Mr. Carter became much more enthusiastic and asked, “So, Little Foster said you’re one of the people we took in?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Not even a week. I was at Evelyn’s house before, now at the shelter. They said it’s an observation period.”

“Oh, Evelyn is a good kid. If she was willing to take you in, you’re fine. And I’ll vouch for you too. In a couple of days, you’ll be out!”

Mr. Carter was full of righteous passion, as if he wanted to swear brotherhood on the spot.

He then led William Clark to the chess and card area, pointed to a table missing one player, and said, “This is Mr. Turner, Mr. Dawson, and Mr. Bennett!”

“Hello!”