>Eat the green stuff.

The green stuff? The green slime on the side of the dumpter? You want to eat it? The grime? The gunk? The filth on the side of the garbage receptical you are currently residing in? That green stuff? You feel the urge to eat it? The viscous ooze?

You ultimately decide not to do that.

>Look for "clothing" in the garbage.

Okay yeah see THERE'S a good idea. Your first of many, you're sure.

You rummage through the garbage for a few short minutes, getting your dainty paws covered in a plethora of exotic, exciting fluids and oozes. You manage to find a large burlap potato sack. You might be able perform some impromtu tailoring and cut out some holes for your arms and head to make a dress of sorts. If your claws still exist. You don't know if your claws still exist. You begin to panic, maybe you got brutally declawed while you were passed out? What if you're now a clawless freak? You should find out.

>Check your claws.

They are fine.

Well, you manage to crudely cut some holes into the burlap sack. You're actually rather chuffed at your handiwork. You did a good job, look at how pretty you are!

Sure, not your usual getup but it beats being naked in the street. The city of Canacord has some pretty harsh public indecency laws, and a nasty old rotting sack touching your fur is preferable to being beaten to near-death by the guards and tossed in a prison cell. Though maybe they'd give you some real clothes in there.

Huh, y'know what? Prison garbs aren't too shabby. You imagine you'd look like a handsome and roguish bandit, prowling through the street in the cover of night for some loot to pilfer, striking fear in the hearts of nobles and the fire of rebellion in the oppressed. Maybe you could ask the guards for a spare prisoner uniform. Once you leave this alleyway, that is.

Nevertheless, it's probably time you exit this dump. Pun intended.

You clamber out of the dumpster and stumble your way towards the street. Your legs are weak, they buckle as you hit the ground. And the very moment you begin to move, your head thrums in a pulsing agony. The surrounding buildings soon divorce from your side, leaving you standing at the edge of a cobblstone street.

It's so fucking bright. Ow.

Immediately, you're met with the bustling street of... Whatever street you're on, you can't see a sign. Dozens, if not hundreds of people flood the street, all scampering across the stone road like little ants, meandering and shopping and frolicking and... You dunno, living life, you guess. Going about their business.

You're not exactly elated about having to go out into such a crowded street in nothing but a sack dress, you don't want to look like a pervert. A freak, a weirdo even. People will probably just assume you're poor and homeless, though. Which, to be fair, is not entirely false. You should probably scout street ahead for buildings that might be of interest to you, maybe somewhere to get clothes. Like a clothing store. Or somewhere to get food. Like a food store. Or somewhere to get a job. Like a job store.

Hehe. Job store. You make yourself laugh.

As you stand in the alleyway, peering out into the street, you do notice a sign down the street to your right. "Randall's Ravishing Rags." The sign has a little drawing of a shirt, so you assume it's a clothing store. You mean, what else could it be? Stop doubting yourself, it's unbecoming. You should probably check it out.

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