The doctor’s receptionist was weeping at her desk, listening to the piped-in sound: “And there’s no tenderness like before in your fingertips . . .”

I knew the next lines. “You’re trying hard not to show it.”

Within a minute, I was bawling, too. I always do when I hear that song. It reminds me of that long-ago Baltimore pizza joint where the other jukebox tunes changed every month – but that one stayed for 10 years.

It was the cry-in-your-beer song, the song you played when you were about to dump or be dumped by your first love. People always cried in the booths.

You know that wall of sound, the deep bass voice of grief and tragedy (“You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips”). The voices wailing, “Baby! Oh Baby!”

It still tugs at my heart. “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling” is a cry of yearning, indescribable sadness.

I don’t remember the doctor, but the crying receptionist still fills my mind with that song. If it doesn’t tug at your heart, you are a monster.

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Of course you may cry