I’m in an aisle vaguely scanning a wall of dried pasta when the Muzak system plays Eric Clapton’s song about the death of his son. “Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven?” It’s more than I can tolerate. I break down in the middle of the market. Jasper and Daisy, their arms loaded with the items on their lists, both race around the corner at the same time and catch my tears. They are appalled and afraid.
