It reaches in and grabs hold of something older than manners, older than composure, and it hauls that thing up into the daylight of a supermarket, and it does not care who is watching.
I would be mortified about it within the minute.
But in that moment there was no room in me for mortification.
There was only the need to know, right now, whether the life I thought I had was real.
A few shoppers turned to look.
The clerk behind the bakery counter stopped wiping it down.