I reach into my bag for my keys, find a receipt from 2019, three bobby pins that aren't mine, a loyalty card to a store that closed, and what I'm 99% sure is a raisin—but no keys. So I flip the entire bag upside down like I'm performing an exorcism, and there they are, tangled in a hair tie next to a half-eaten granola bar that's somehow still in its wrapper. Apparently my bag is a time capsule where car keys go to retire.