There is a Flickr group dedicated to answering the question, “What’s in your bag?” The photographs generally reveal neatly arranged accoutrements—occasionally of expensive and stylish varieties—and may feature the bag within which these items sit. Presumably, these tangible things reflect individual intangible values and beliefs.

Whenever the homeless man came to visit, his hands—grimy, dark, with dirt underneath his short nails—clutched a dirty plastic bag. I asked him what items he had in his bag.

A sly smile crossed his face as he opened it. He inserted one hand into the bag; it crinkled loudly as he rummaged through the contents.

“Well…” he started, pausing for effect, “inside, I have a water bottle…”

He pulled out a quart-sized plastic water bottle, inside which swished water that was brown and murky. The cap, once white, was now smeared with dirt.

“… a razor…”

It was black with two blades. I thought I noticed rust on the outer blade.

“… antiseptic deodorant…”

He pulled out an unmarked container of deodorant—not the stick kind, the roll-on kind.

“Did you know,” he said, flashing a playful grin at me, “that this deodorant also helps heal small cuts? It works well for that.”

He continued to dig through the bag.

“… a toothbrush…”

He only revealed the handle. The bristle end he kept in the bag.

“… more plastic bags…”

His hand pulled out another crumpled bag.

“… and candy.”

With panache, he showed me a Snickers bar.

I asked him again if he wanted to replace any of the items. I was specifically thinking of his water bottle.

“No, no,” he emphatically replied. “I’m fine.”

Noting that he had consistently declined all of our offers for clean, intact clothing and new toiletries, I gently asked, “Can I ask why you don’t accept newer stuff to replace what you currently have?”

He closed up his bag and looked at me.

“Because I already have everything I need,” he simply replied.