It is more Occupy Wall Street chic than Mumbai footpath. The roads are lonely, and the night air is pleasant.
She half awoke from her dream and felt an arm comfortably wrapped around her breasts. She gently felt his fingers, taking them to her lips, to see if they were familiar. They were not any she knew, yet they were not offensive. They held her confidently, and she slept on, like she slept in her bed at home, wrapped in his and her nudity.
She woke up and he was gone, but there were large vessels cooking on outdoor fires. Whoever she was with, they ate well and had beautiful quilts which she could wrap herself with.
Barefoot she walked to the fire, but saw noone.
She had never felt so warm and safe as she was now, homeless on an unknown footpath, in a dream.
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