I've had a few turkey sandwiches over the past two days, but always under distracting circumstances: sitting next to my father while he does the crossword puzzle, watching the Great Alaska Shootout with my father-in-law, eyeing the remaining apple-cranberry pie while sorting though stacks of random New York Times sections. Tonight, though, will be different. The relatives have departed. The remaining members of this household have gone to bed early and the cats, delighted to have their bedroom back, have joined them. Tonight I will be alone with my turkey sandwich and whatever I choose to read. The bread will be white. The mayonnaise will be sufficiently thick in its application. The cranberry sauce will drip from the sides as I apply pressure with my fingertips. It sounds like a code. But it isn't. Tonight will not be allegory. Tonight will be pure.