“I am…relieved, I guess, but what sort of neurologist sends a confused girl home after a botched memory wipe — err boy…man!”

I’m this close to giving up on past-tense pronouns.

“Tell me, Riley, what kind of doctor vapes anyway?”

“C’mon, be nice,” Riley teases, stopping mid-thought to squeeze her hand into the crevice between our seats. “It’s not so bad,” her backside mumbles. I think she’s reaching for something…something that crinkles and rattles just outside of her grasp.

“Hah!” Riley’s arm punches through the flimsy paper bag. “If you don’t want these pills, I’ll take some of this…Colace?”