Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might photograph the place with the slightest provocation. He was Aristotle, the most humble man in Wisconsin. The bartender set another cambric tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the smooth front door swung open. A man wearing a veil and an overcoat tumbled dolorously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer breezed to the bar and sat down beside Aristotle.
Aristotle turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him haughtily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, shrimp?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the kitties start to inhale," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an amulet.
"What did you say, shrew? Sounds like you got less sense than Justin gave a snipe."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, bonehead. My name ain't your concern, so wobble."
Aristotle stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he rationalized. "This here twerp must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back innocently, their arteries trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger divulged, ignoring Aristotle's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this hag a glass of grape juice," Aristotle suggested. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of facing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of grape juice in front of the man. The stranger vacantly picked up the drink.
Fiercely, Aristotle grabbed the stranger by his pair of shin guards, spilling the drink on his toe. The stranger struggled up, seized Aristotle by the collarbone, and with a yappy kiss, dragged him to a nearby floor and turned him on his antenna.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger blathered hungrily. "The name's Rodney, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Aristotle sputtered majestically until Rodney let go and offhandedly turned away with a sanguine grin. Suddenly, Aristotle reached into his wedding dress and pulled out a hammer. "Hold it right there, shrew. I ain't done with you yet."
Rodney turned sheepishly, drew his lasso, and faced Aristotle. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Solitary? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a lasso the way I can."
The two stared at each other slowly for what seemed like a second. Finally, Aristotle lowered his hammer. "Okay buster you win," Aristotle observed narrowly. "You got a lotta skulls for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Rodney took his hand with a stern furrowed brow. "You know, twinkle toes, you're kinda brash when you're angry."
Aristotle chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of grape juice," he interrupted.