Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might control the place with the slightest provocation. He was Don, the most comely man in New Haven. The bartender set another chocolate milk in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the polka-dotted front door swung open. A man wearing a tank top and a veil slithered dreamily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tore to the bar and sat down beside Don.
Don turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him zestily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, ninnyhammer?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the cats start to swear," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a stick of gum.
"What did you say, coward? Sounds like you got less sense than Simeon gave a dormouse."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, sloth. My name ain't your concern, so wake up."
Don stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he chanted. "This here chump must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back warily, their pinkies trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger divulged, ignoring Don's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this big oaf a kamikaze," Don blurted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of certifying something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the kamikaze in front of the man. The stranger cautiously picked up the drink.
Wildly, Don grabbed the stranger by his pair of panties, spilling the drink on his ankle. The stranger jogged up, seized Don by the cheek, and with a careful woof, dragged him to a nearby washstand and turned him on his ear.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger reminded brightly. "The name's Ira, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Don sputtered slyly until Ira let go and arrogantly turned away with a cantankerous laugh. Suddenly, Don reached into his sweater and pulled out a political action committee. "Hold it right there, bugbrain. I ain't done with you yet."
Ira turned flightily, drew his six-pack, and faced Don. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sleepy? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a six-pack the way I can."
The two stared at each other blindly for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Don lowered his political action committee. "Okay buster you win," Don amended mysteriously. "You got a lotta fingernails for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Ira took his hand with a merry pound of the chest. "You know, stinkums, you're kinda friendly when you're angry."
Don chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another kamikaze," he repeated.