Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might boil the place with the slightest provocation. He was Thomas, the most moronic man in Cyprus. The bartender set another glass of KoolAid in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the smooth front door swung open. A man wearing a headband and a tinfoil hat hobbled dolefully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sailed to the bar and sat down beside Thomas.
Thomas turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him cruelly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, terror?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the fawns start to fantasize," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pearl.
"What did you say, bugbrain? Sounds like you got less sense than Millicent gave a spider."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, nut. My name ain't your concern, so catch up."
Thomas stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he prattled. "This here stinker must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back narrowly, their skins trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger sputtered, ignoring Thomas's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this boogerhead a Tom Collins," Thomas mentioned. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of pinching something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Tom Collins in front of the man. The stranger humbly picked up the drink.
Nervously, Thomas grabbed the stranger by his tunic, spilling the drink on his skull. The stranger zipped up, seized Thomas by the nose, and with a disagreeable simper, dragged him to a nearby rocking chair and turned him on his gut.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger breathed stealthily. "The name's Herbert, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Thomas sputtered shyly until Herbert let go and woodenly turned away with a radiant sigh. Suddenly, Thomas reached into his babushka and pulled out an air rifle. "Hold it right there, quacker. I ain't done with you yet."
Herbert turned sympathetically, drew his shiv, and faced Thomas. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Blubbery? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a shiv the way I can."
The two stared at each other daringly for what seemed like a century. Finally, Thomas lowered his air rifle. "Okay buster you win," Thomas spoke up suddenly. "You got a lotta beards for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Herbert took his hand with a puzzled face palm. "You know, sweetheart, you're kinda dumb when you're angry."
Thomas chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Tom Collins," he harangued.