The weathered sign swayed in the desert wind outside the old storefront on the poor side of town. Nobody knew what went on there. That’s probably because nobody ever went there, except for some hippies—and everybody knew they were crazy.
One day a couple of cowboys were riding around, drunk as usual, and one dared the other to go inside. They parked noisily. Slamming the doors and laughing, they walked back to the storefront. The door was locked, the windows so dirty they couldn’t see inside.
Finally one noticed the small business card down low in the window, so low your had to bend down to read it: “BUDDHA TEMPLE—please ring bell for service.” Exchanging glances, they didn’t seem so drunk anymore. Finally one said, “Aw, hell,” and pushed the doorbell mounted near the card.