The lie is too egregious, honor has been questioned, then: a scuffle in the alley.

At the bar you get to know pretty quickly who the habitual liars are. Lies about sex, lies about ex-wives, lies about money, lies about others: you also get to know which ones think that they have convinced you of their lies, and which ones actually began to believe their lies, at least when they've had a few drinks.

Sometimes the lies are harmless, sometimes they are funny. Sometimes alcohol makes the funny lies even funnier. Your consumption of alcohol, theirs, or a combination of both: at times it is remarkably easy to envision six-foot invisible rabbits. 

Then there are the mean-spirited lies, by mean-spirited liars. Some are mean-spirited by nature; some are mean-spirited by alcohol, impotence and anger. Accordingly, there are a lot of angry six-foot invisible rabbits at the bar. Sometimes.

Occasionally a fight arises out of a particular lie. The lie is too egregious, honor has been questioned, then: a scuffle in the alley. A roundhouse punch may be landed, someone may be tackled against a dumpster. Sometimes it is the liar fighting to defend his lie: some people are willing to risk harm rather than lose face. If they win the fight then somehow that means their lie is the truth, seems to be the thinking. I may be wrong on that; human nature and the truth is a complex thing. And sometimes people's six-foot invisible rabbits get involved.

The scuffle in the alley behind the bar might be the closest remnant left of the settling of things by pistol at dawn. Maybe settling things by pistol at dawn kept more people honest. Again: I may be wrong on that. Human nature and the truth is a complex thing. And no one wants to see the six-foot invisible rabbit shot by accident.



- james james

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