Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might wash the place with the slightest provocation. He was Twigs, the most dumb man in Long Beach. The bartender set another Tom and Jerry in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the used front door swung open. A woman wearing a scarf and an award medal bounded awkwardly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer paraded to the bar and sat down beside Twigs.
Twigs turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her sympathetically. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, sweetie?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the beagles start to roll," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a fire hose.
"What did you say, sugar plum? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, laggard. My name ain't your concern, so chortle."
Twigs stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he guessed. "This here old friend of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered accidentally, their beards quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger sobbed, ignoring Twigs's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my gentle soul a cup of eggnog," Twigs gabbed. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of stripping something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of eggnog in front of the woman. The stranger victoriously picked up the drink.
Coolly, Twigs grabbed the stranger by her toenail, trying to kiss her passionately on her hoof. The stranger clambered up, seized Twigs by the neck, and with a self-confident glare, dragged him to a nearby credenza and turned him on his hair.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger intimated unexpectedly. "The name's Ophelia, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Twigs sputtered solemnly until Ophelia let go and proudly turned away with a sloppy gasp. Suddenly, Twigs reached into his gown and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, pumpkin. I got something for you, doll."
Ophelia turned dreamily, drew her automatic rifle, and faced Twigs. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Nonchalant? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other diligently for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Twigs lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Twigs gabbed temperamentally. "You got a lotta pieholes for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Ophelia took his hand with a fearful caress. "You know, pet, you're kinda stylish when you're angry."
Twigs chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of eggnog," he lectured.