A Montana cowboy, a Native American and a Muslim are waiting for their plane in a small Montana airport.
The Montana cowboy leans back in his chair, crosses his boots on a magazine table and tips his big sweat-stained hat forward over his face.
The wind outside is blowing tumbleweeds around and the old windsock is flapping, but still no plane comes.
The American Indian clears his throat and softly speaks. "At one time here, my people were many, but sadly, now we are few."
The Muslim student raises an eyebrow and leans forward, "Once my people were few," he sneers, and now we are many. Why do you suppose that is?"
The Montana cowboy shifts his toothpick to one side of his mouth, and from the darkness beneath his Stetson says in a drawl :
"That's cause we ain't played Cowboys & Muslims yet, but I do believe it's a-comin".
The Montana cowboy leans back in his chair, crosses his boots on a magazine table and tips his big sweat-stained hat forward over his face.
The wind outside is blowing tumbleweeds around and the old windsock is flapping, but still no plane comes.
The American Indian clears his throat and softly speaks. "At one time here, my people were many, but sadly, now we are few."
The Muslim student raises an eyebrow and leans forward, "Once my people were few," he sneers, and now we are many. Why do you suppose that is?"
The Montana cowboy shifts his toothpick to one side of his mouth, and from the darkness beneath his Stetson says in a drawl :
"That's cause we ain't played Cowboys & Muslims yet, but I do believe it's a-comin".