Alvin exits the mall as he always did, on the other end from where he entered. That made it less likely any one would notice the change of clothes. While he was in the men's room, he carefully folded up the suit and stowed it in the duffel bag. The frayed blue jeans and faded tee shirt he wears as he heads to his destination are much more comfortable.
The overpass at 42nd Street and Webb Highway is one of his favorite spots. During rush hour and at lunch, the traffic backs up and gives people plenty of time to read his sign of the day. "Will Work For Food." "Disabled Veteran, Can't Work, Please Help." "Lost Job, Kids Are Hungry."
Alvin makes good money playing off of people's emotions. None of the things he writes on the cardboard signs are true. He'd stopped looking at himself in the mirror years ago.
Occasionally he remembers the words of Mr. Clark, his 7th grade history teacher. "Alvin, you are the stupidest smart kid I've ever met. And the hardest working lazy person. It would take less time to do your homework than you spend making up your fancy excuses. In the unlikely event you ever get your shit together, you will be dangerous. I'm not going to hold my breath."
After barely graduating from high school, Alvin tried a variety of careers. It was easy to get jobs in sales. But making money was a different matter.
When he saw a drug dealer on TV, bragging about how much money he made, he figured he would give it a try. An hour after purchasing a pound of marijuana, the guy showed up at Alvin's apartment with armed friends. When he regained consciousness he had a black eye and a broken nose. The weed was gone.
Alvin thinks about the one time he actually did get his shit together. For a little while, anyway. Mostly it was luck.
He felt sorry for Freddy, the drunk guy at the poker game who emptied his wallet before he passed out. A couple of guys helped Alvin carry him to his car. Freddy was too drunk to tell Alvin where he lived. Alvin managed to get him inside the door of his tiny apartment before he passed out for real. When Alvin got up the next morning, Freddy was on Alvin's computer, trading stocks. By the time the closing bell rang that afternoon, Alvin had learned the basics of day trading.
That was 1997. Alvin got in at the beginning of the internet bubble. For the first time in his life, he was making money. He was luckier still when the mortgage companies refused to loan him money for a house. They referred to the numerous bad checks on his credit report, and always grimaced when he told them he was a professional day trader. In perhaps the only wise financial decision he ever made, Alvin saved up enough money to pay cash for a house.
If he had a mortgage, he would have lost the house when the financial markets went to hell in 2008. In a matter of a few weeks, the easy money from day trading was gone. Forever. Alvin quickly went through his savings. Aside from a house, furniture, a car, and some clothes, he was broke.
He stopped paying for insurance, phone, and cable. But he still had to pay the HOA fees and property taxes. And buy food, and pay for utilities. When he saw a man hand a $10 bill to a bum holding a sign, the light bulb went on.
The next morning, he drove the Infiniti past the brick wall that separated his neighborhood from the rest of the city. As always, he waved to Carl, the guard who opened and closed the ornate, metal gate. The cardboard signs were in the duffel bag as he entered the mall. They were under his arm as he walked out.
In a place as big as Los Angeles, there were enough mall bathrooms and street corners to keep a fake homeless person busy for a long time. Alvin figured out which corners yielded the best results. He began developing personas.
Bill, the laid off auto worker, has three children staying with him in the shelter. The kids always need money for school supplies and new used shoes.
