One of the wipers was broken—stuck in place—going nowhere. As I stared through the rain-smeared windshield I wondered how exactly I had arrived here. The parking lot looked familiar. I knew I worked at this place, but what of the last few hours. Waking, eating breakfast, deciding (oddly) to drive instead of bike…what of those actions. Gone—all of them. With trepidation I opened the car door, walked across the dirt parking lot, and entered the building. Inside, coworkers and friends from long ago gathered around a table in the vestibule. I sat with them, aloof and guarded—unwilling to divulge the increasingly alarming gap in my memory. As I casually looked around, I noted three doors leading from the the main lobby. One of them led to my place of employment. But which one. I didn’t recognize the people passing through on their way in. I craned my neck as each door opened, but saw no familiar landmarks or personages beyond any of the three. Suddenly I realized I also could not recall the appearance of my own personal office space. So should I even guess right as to the proper entrance, I would not know where to go once inside. It appeared that I would need to take a leap of faith—there was a choice to be made.