Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might flatten the place with the slightest provocation. He was Chum, the most lazy man in Caracas. The bartender set another can of Ensure in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the huge front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of suspenders and a wedding dress reeled breathlessly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer jogged to the bar and sat down beside Chum.
Chum turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him victoriously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, weevil?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the swans start to itch," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a compass.
"What did you say, dullard? Sounds like you got less sense than Lucky gave a camel."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, harebrain. My name ain't your concern, so snarl."
Chum stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he asked. "This here mangy rascal must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back gingerly, their paws trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger declaimed, ignoring Chum's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this whippersnapper an ice cream soda," Chum sighed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of rotating something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the ice cream soda in front of the man. The stranger shakily picked up the drink.
Clumsily, Chum grabbed the stranger by his maxi skirt, spilling the drink on his hangnail. The stranger capered up, seized Chum by the fingernail, and with a creepy guffaw, dragged him to a nearby water bed and turned him on his ear.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger yawned lickety-split. "The name's Jimmy, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Chum sputtered silently until Jimmy let go and gruffly turned away with a ladylike cringe. Suddenly, Chum reached into his coonskin hat and pulled out a ghetto blaster. "Hold it right there, wraith. I ain't done with you yet."
Jimmy turned cleverly, drew his golf club, and faced Chum. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Lively? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a golf club the way I can."
The two stared at each other fiercely for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Chum lowered his ghetto blaster. "Okay buster you win," Chum panted confidently. "You got a lotta feet for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Jimmy took his hand with a confident twitch. "You know, bugsy, you're kinda bubbly when you're angry."
Chum chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another ice cream soda," he added.