Reborn in America, I am a legendary short seller on Wall Street.

Chapter 53 Breakfast (Bonus chapter if monthly votes exceed 200)

Larry returned to his apartment and, without even eating or showering, immediately collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Larry woke up needing to pee and realized he hadn't taken off his coat and the pistol was still tucked under his arm, making his ribs ache.

Larry quickly ran to the bathroom to take care of his business, then stripped down to his underwear, crawled into bed, and fell into a deep sleep again.

Larry didn't wake up until dawn the next day, rubbing his eyes and feeling his stomach growling with hunger.

Damn it, I'm never taking an overnight train again. There are no sleeper berths, it's just torture.

Judging that it was about time, Larry got up, washed up, and took out a new shirt. This shirt was a high-end Italian import that Larry had bought a few days ago for $12. Larry felt that his dressing style should also align with that of upper-class people, but considering that he didn't want to offend the people around him too much at once, he planned to gradually change his clothes.

While changing his shirt, Larry felt the dollars in his shirt pocket and casually put them all into his pants pocket.

After getting dressed, Larry felt refreshed and exuded an air of sophistication in his new shirt. He then put on his best coat before stepping out of the apartment building.

It was only about 7 a.m. when Larry walked to the porch, took a copy of the Boston Globe, tucked it under his arm, and went out the door.

As soon as he stepped out the door, a gust of cold wind blew by, and Larry shivered.

Larry glanced at his bicycle parked in the semi-basement storage room of the apartment building and frowned. He thought to himself that riding a bicycle in winter was really a hardship. Since it was still early, he might as well walk to Paine Weber Securities Company and grab some breakfast on the way.

With that thought in mind, Larry, newspaper tucked under his arm, whistled and walked slowly toward the company in the morning sunlight.

January is the coldest month in Boston, but compared to inland cities, Boston is relatively tolerable as long as there are no strong winds, given its location on the coast.

Larry strolled along, watching the white light appear in the east and listening to the faint sound of the ocean waves in the distance, feeling utterly at peace.

That's just how people are; when they're extremely hungry or extremely tired, they're definitely not in a good mood.

But I slept for more than 14 hours straight last night, so I felt much better this morning and was very relaxed.

Municipal workers were turning off the gas lamps one by one. As soon as the bright orange lights went out, the earth was replaced by the faint morning light that diffused from the sky.

Larry walked alone on the road, his light footsteps creating a playful drumbeat.

Leaving the tree-lined avenues of the Back Bay, there is a transitional block leading to downtown. This area was Boston's original southern border, inhabited by a large number of industrial workers and low-income laborers. Now, it resembles a "shantytown" in Larry's previous life in Chinatown.

The sudden transition from the bright Houwan District to this old "shantytown" in the southern part of the city always gives one a sense of stepping back in time.

However, this place isn't without its advantages. Small shops line the streets, offering a variety of affordable and delicious restaurants and general stores. With a little effort, one can also find secondhand furniture and items that once belonged to the upper class.

Larry came here for breakfast. He walked into a small restaurant where the gaslights were still on, sat down at a table with a checkered tablecloth, and tapped on the table.
"A 40-cent breakfast!"

The breakfast shops in the old town sell classic American breakfasts, ranging from 5 cents to 40 cents depending on the set meal. The 40-cent breakfast that Larry wanted was actually the restaurant's "window display," the kind of food that you know you don't order, but to highlight the high-end nature of my restaurant, I have to have this level of food.

In such an old town, no one would be willing to buy such an expensive breakfast.

The female shop owner, dressed in a simple gray dress, was busy frying eggs at the counter. When she heard that a big customer had arrived, she hurriedly called her husband out to serve the VIP customer first.

The restaurant wasn't crowded. The few people eating glanced at Larry before continuing to eat. Larry wasn't worried about being targeted here, because 40 cents was a small amount for the average American these days—not that they couldn't afford it, but they weren't exactly stingy either. So people didn't really think he was showing off his wealth.

While waiting for breakfast, Larry spread out the Boston Globe and casually browsed it under the dim gaslight.

Ah! My photo is on the front page!

The second headline on the front page featured a photo of Larry and the middle-aged inventor Ford, sitting aboard the "Clara" and raising their arms.

Larry saw a report in the Boston Globe that a new machine with the potential to make history had been invented at a local scientists' salon. This revolutionary machine was called—the automobile! He also emphasized that the word "automobile" was named by the handsome young man next to the inventor.

Of course, the article also subtly recounted the outcome of this car test drive, saying that this great invention had made some progress, but further improvements were still needed.

Larry smiled as he saw this, thinking to himself that the car had only slid forward a few centimeters, yet they were making it sound like it had crossed the Atlantic Ocean.

However, it is clear that Mr. Winthrop is a true science enthusiast, and under his leadership, the Boston Globe has given automobiles a level of importance that surpasses their influence.

After reading the front page, Larry flipped to the next two pages to read other domestic and international news.

That's how American newspapers are. Unless it's a presidential assassination or Martians invading Earth, the front page is always local news. All other major domestic or international news gets relegated to the back. The birth of a pure white pony in a local stable is far more important than news of a New York building fire killing a dozen tenants.

This is completely different from how Larry felt when he read domestic newspapers in his previous life.

Larry was reading the newspaper when breakfast was served. He quickly put the newspaper aside, cleared the table, and watched as the female shop owner carefully arranged the various foods from the plates onto the table.

There were two pieces of smoked bacon that were slowly pan-fried over a low flame, and a black sausage made with minced pork, sage, and pepper.

There's also pickled herring, a common cold breakfast dish along the New England coast.

The main dish was white bread spread with honey and cheap jam. The bread had been toasted on a grill and gave off a caramelized aroma.

In addition, there were two runny-yellow fried eggs, a full liter of milk, and a large bowl of "Indian pudding" with maple syrup and raisins.

After serving breakfast, the female shop owner asked in a low voice, "For your beverage, would you like a fruit wine or coffee?"

"Coffee, please!" Larry thought to himself, "I don't have the habit of drinking early in the morning."

Just then, a young voice rang out from outside the door, "Ms. Susan, please bring me a 5-cent breakfast."

As he spoke, a thin figure slowly walked towards Larry with weary steps, accompanied by the clattering sound of water coming from a tin bucket.

Larry kept his head down as he ate, not looking back, but when the thin young man passed by, Larry could smell a pungent coal ash emanating from him. Larry slightly raised his head, observing the frail young man, who looked as if a gust of wind could blow him over, through the gaps in his bangs.

The young man also had blond hair and beautiful blue eyes. He was wearing gray khaki overalls, and his face was covered in soot.

He walked to a table in front of Larry, first rubbed his hands on his clothes, then lifted the checkered tablecloth and folded it on the other half of the table. He then placed the tin bucket containing the old clothes next to the chair before carefully sitting down, afraid that his dirty clothes would soil the breakfast shop's tables and chairs.

Larry noticed that the cloth nameplate on his chest read "Carnegie Steel Works".

　Thank you, Wangyuan Zhenjun, for the September ticket donation.
　　
　
(End of this chapter)