When he retired, Max built a workout shed and wrote THE BODY IS A TEMPLE over the door.
He exercised every day. Rain or shine, heat or blizzard.
One day, while walking to the workout shed, he felt a strange feeling behind his right ear.
Everything went black, and Max dropped to the ground, dead from a stroke.
Max had kept to himself, so it was the overflowing mailbox that was the first sign something was wrong.
The mailman went into the back yard and saw the body covered with flies and other things.
Temple? No.
More like a buffet.