“So, Taco Bell?” she asks, confident and giddy, as if that’s the next obvious stop after being told you have silly trans lady amnesia.

I reply cosmically, “Anywhere but here. I need to rationalize the familiar for a while. And maybe try to find some of these lost memories.”

As our car makes its way through the parking lot, Riley ponders aloud, actually and earnestly trying to decipher my request.

“Hmmm…Taco Bell still uses the same five ingredients!”

I can’t help but smirk, peeking into my hoody toward the sights and sounds of a sunken and gurgling tummy. “I guess that counts, yeah! This counts as a therapeutic visit, anxiety or whatever.”