I have some good canned tomatoes to use up, and I was idling at the intersection of Walgreen’s and CVS, adding sour cream and basil oil to them in my imagination, and I started to cry. Because she loved tomatoes so much, and who knows how long ago it was when she ate her last one? And I played out the menu we would have eaten on any July night, before bad tomatoes were invented. Dining in the one cool spot in the entire apartment, with heavy cold air blowing right on our plates from the huge air conditioner that hung from the living room window overlooking Fullerton Avenue. It would have been Oscar Meyer hot dogs, and Libby’s Baked Beans, and thick red slices of tomato seasoned with salt. Just salt. Nothing else. Because salt is all a good tomato needs.