The vanishing Purse at the shifting Station

"I was at a train station, or maybe a shopping mall, it kept switching, and I set my purse down on a bench just for a second to tie my shoe. When I stood up it was gone. Not stolen, I don't think, just gone, like it had never been there. I wasn't even panicking at first, only this heavy, sinking feeling in my stomach. The purse was my mother's old brown one, which I don't even own in real life. Inside was a folded note I'd been saving, and I couldn't remember what it said, only that it mattered more than my wallet or keys. Then a jump and I was in a office with fluorescent lights, asking a woman at a desk if anyone had turned in a bag. She kept stamping papers and saying "name?" and I realized I couldn't remember mine either. She looked at me with such pity that I almost cried. Somewhere there was a bus I was supposed to catch, and I kept walking toward it with my empty hands. Woke up and actually reached over to check my bag on the chair. It was there. Still felt a little hollow."