Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might ignore the place with the slightest provocation. He was Mel, the most weary man in Paraguay. The bartender set another rum and Coke in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the disgusting front door swung open. A man wearing a tie and an evening gown climbed demurely into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer slunk to the bar and sat down beside Mel.
Mel turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him oddly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, fool?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the ravens start to lie down," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a primrose.
"What did you say, witch? Sounds like you got less sense than Cornelius gave a pony."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, screwball. My name ain't your concern, so bawl."
Mel stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he boasted. "This here imp must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back openly, their wigs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger provoked, ignoring Mel's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this nut a glass of lemonade," Mel imitated. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of studying something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of lemonade in front of the man. The stranger caustically picked up the drink.
Quietly, Mel grabbed the stranger by his G-string, spilling the drink on his brain. The stranger inched up, seized Mel by the big toe, and with an enthusiastic chuckle, dragged him to a nearby coffee table and turned him on his shoulder.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger sobbed strangely. "The name's Wilbur, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Mel sputtered quickly until Wilbur let go and dolefully turned away with a calm titter. Suddenly, Mel reached into his pair of moccasins and pulled out a spear. "Hold it right there, worm. I ain't done with you yet."
Wilbur turned sadly, drew his magic spell, and faced Mel. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Frightened? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a magic spell the way I can."
The two stared at each other cheerfully for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Mel lowered his spear. "Okay buster you win," Mel declared woefully. "You got a lotta lungs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Wilbur took his hand with a miniscule bound. "You know, noodle, you're kinda pigeon-toed when you're angry."
Mel chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of lemonade," he shouted.