The auction was over, but Thanksgiving wasn’t. The rain slowed to a drizzle as the ambulance pulled away, Ri at the wheel, the turkey’s remains inside. Dry arrived at the precinct, his coat still dripping, and laid the evidence before Sheriff Suparno. The sheriff studied the photograph of the butchered turkey. Shadows from the rain-streaked window danced across his desk. Finally, he sighed. “What are we even doing here? It’s Thanksgiving. It’s just a turkey. Everyone carves one today.” Case closed. The police quickly tracked down the turkey’s owners and returned it to their table. Confused but grateful, they served it for dinner. Dry stood outside as the rain faded to a cold, quiet night. He lit a cigarette, its faint glow flickering in the puddles. Sometimes, the city made you laugh. But mostly, it just made you tired.