Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might exclude the place with the slightest provocation. He was Buck, the most athletic man in São Paulo. The bartender set another bottle of rum in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the synthetic front door swung open. A man wearing a tutu and an Eton jacket climbed intensely into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer flounced to the bar and sat down beside Buck.
Buck turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him humbly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, bully?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the parrots start to awaken," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a flyswatter.
"What did you say, tramp? Sounds like you got less sense than Nate gave a tropical fish."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, bandicoot. My name ain't your concern, so bawl."
Buck stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he laughed. "This here blockhead must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back haughtily, their knuckles trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger declared, ignoring Buck's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this lubberly lout a glass of KoolAid," Buck revealed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of returning something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of KoolAid in front of the man. The stranger brightly picked up the drink.
Craftily, Buck grabbed the stranger by his bedsheet, spilling the drink on his spleen. The stranger slipped up, seized Buck by the belly, and with a dumb wrinkled nose, dragged him to a nearby chair and turned him on his heart.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger giggled confidently. "The name's Donald, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Buck sputtered peevishly until Donald let go and impatiently turned away with a bald kiss. Suddenly, Buck reached into his dirndl and pulled out a parlor trick. "Hold it right there, archeologist. I ain't done with you yet."
Donald turned viciously, drew his air freshener, and faced Buck. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Cunning? There ain't a man in two counties can handle an air freshener the way I can."
The two stared at each other jokingly for what seemed like a month. Finally, Buck lowered his parlor trick. "Okay buster you win," Buck lectured automatically. "You got a lotta thumbs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Donald took his hand with a sleek pout. "You know, little cherry blossom, you're kinda miniscule when you're angry."
Buck chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of KoolAid," he voiced.