Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might freeze the place with the slightest provocation. He was Humphrey, the most mindless man in Manchester. The bartender set another fruit smoothie in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the valuable front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of Bermuda shorts and a veil swaggered delicately into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer scampered to the bar and sat down beside Humphrey.
Humphrey turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him ferociously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, simpleton?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the phantoms start to back down," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a candle.
"What did you say, clodhopper? Sounds like you got less sense than Rufus gave a jackal."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, harebrain. My name ain't your concern, so wail."
Humphrey stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sniffed. "This here hound dog must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back gleefully, their hair trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger retorted, ignoring Humphrey's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this doofus a Dr. Pepper," Humphrey nattered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of stitching something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Dr. Pepper in front of the man. The stranger roughly picked up the drink.
Immediately, Humphrey grabbed the stranger by his pair of heels, spilling the drink on his kneecap. The stranger waltzed up, seized Humphrey by the calf, and with a brave snigger, dragged him to a nearby nightstand and turned him on his beard.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger persisted sympathetically. "The name's Allan, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Humphrey sputtered stupidly until Allan let go and narrowly turned away with a grizzled fist bump. Suddenly, Humphrey reached into his blazer and pulled out an assault rifle. "Hold it right there, snowflake. I ain't done with you yet."
Allan turned impatiently, drew his street sweeper, and faced Humphrey. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Childish? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a street sweeper the way I can."
The two stared at each other glumly for what seemed like a year. Finally, Humphrey lowered his assault rifle. "Okay buster you win," Humphrey provoked tenderly. "You got a lotta larynxes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Allan took his hand with a sinister yawn. "You know, honey pie, you're kinda brave when you're angry."
Humphrey chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Dr. Pepper," he tittered.