I dreamed I was a bag lady.
One of the homeless.
But I wasn't your regular unwashed, unkempt type, wheeling her possessions around in a stolen supermarket trolley.
No No NO, not me.
I was clean, groomed, nicely dressed.
I wheeled my possessions around in a clean, small, wheelie bin, that had a heavy chain and padlock attached.
I'd hang around the really fancy hotels, the ones where rich tourists were known to stay.
There'd be a bench seat on the footpath near the main entrance, and this is where I'd chain the wheelie bin.
I'd pull out whatever novel I was currently reading and sit on the bench pretending to be waiting for someone.
Being clean and well dressed any hotel staff who saw me didn't take much notice. I was never "moved on", like I would have been if I'd hung around dirty and smelly.
As the tourists left the hotel, they'd spot the bin and drop in stuff they no longer wanted.
Souvenirs they'd bought on impulse, but didn't really want.
Clothing they'd bought when touring the local colourful markets, but decided they didn't really like after all.
Sometimes some of their own clothing, maybe they'd spilled coffee or hotdog sauce and the stain hadn't quite come out. Maybe a small cigarette burn on a jacket. A pair of shoes with a broken heel.
(Remember this is a dream.....)
At the end of the day, or if the bin filled before that, I'd unchain it and move on to an abandoned shed on the outskirts of the area and sort through the contents.
(This is where I stayed, with used, mostly good, furniture that I'd dragged in off the roadside during hard rubbish dump season. I even had blankets!)
Souvenirs were placed in a cardboard box, clothes were tried on.
Any that fit became mine.
Clothes that didn't fit me were carefully scrutinised.
Missing buttons? I'd sew some on.
Stain? Embroider around it and turn it into a flower or something.
(In real life I'm not at all crafty, there's no embroidery going on here)
Shoes were also tried on, particularly if they were boots that would keep me warm through the winter.
Heeled shoes that had a broken heel were placed in a bag to be taken to a shoemaker.
One weekend a month, the good stuff, clothing and souvenirs were taken to a weekend market where I would sell them.
This is how I'd make enough money to pay for food, soap, and the repairs on the shoes, which I would then sell at the next market.
IF TWITTER EXISTED WHEN THE BIBLE WAS WRITTEN...
3 hours ago