"I think I saw the Dalai Lama today at Luby's." He paused, waiting for a reaction. I winced in pain. His credulity sucked away all my energy, my will to live.
"Why would the Dalai Lama be at Luby's?"
"How the hell should I know!?" He was mad, and angry. It's not that I think I know everything, but I know this much.
"What did he look like?"
"He was old with a cowboy hat, a black golf shirt, blue jeans and cowboy boots." His stare dared me to scoff. He knew what he'd seen, damn it.
"What the hell makes you think he was the Dalai Lama?"
"Because, smart ass, it said 'Dalai Lama' on his belt buckle." Checkmate!
I could smell the sweet fragrance of the Lotus, and all my doubts evaporated into sublime resignation. Dharma.
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