My neighbor quit smoking. He said, "I'm going cold turkey." I did not know this phrase. But I knew my duty. A man going cold turkey needs turkey. Cold. Every day at 6 PM, I brought him sliced turkey. Cold. On a plate. With a bow. Day one: ten slices. He ate them on the porch instead of smoking. By week two, I brought eight slices. By week three, five. I was tapering. This is strategy. The enemy retreats by degrees. He never asked why the turkey kept coming. He just ate it. His wife asked. I said, "He is going cold turkey. I am providing the turkey." She laughed until she sat down on the stairs. Then she started buying the turkey for me. On day forty, I brought one slice. He held it up like a trophy. He ate it slowly. He has not smoked since. He tells people a samurai cured him with poultry. Not accurate. He cured himself. I only kept the turkey cold. Forty days. Forty plates. The turkey is gone. So is the smoke. I still bring one slice on the first of every month. Anniversary turkey. He eats it on the porch.