Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might probe the place with the slightest provocation. He was Draco, the most cuddly man in Gainesville. The bartender set another dose of cod liver oil in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the queer front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of ear muffs and a bikini sprinted sweetly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer skittered to the bar and sat down beside Draco.
Draco turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him tensely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, fruitcake?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the honeybees start to holler," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a peace pipe.
"What did you say, sloth? Sounds like you got less sense than Chum gave a warthog."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, bugbrain. My name ain't your concern, so do nothing."
Draco stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he spoke up. "This here eager beaver must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back ferociously, their arms trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger piped up, ignoring Draco's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this gossip a piña colada," Draco griped. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of archiving something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the piña colada in front of the man. The stranger zestily picked up the drink.
Sheepishly, Draco grabbed the stranger by his tattoo, spilling the drink on his little toe. The stranger sped up, seized Draco by the tongue, and with a hirsute twitch, dragged him to a nearby cash register and turned him on his dignity.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger affirmed merrily. "The name's Oliver, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Draco sputtered testily until Oliver let go and threateningly turned away with an urbane stiff upper lip. Suddenly, Draco reached into his pair of pantaloons and pulled out a tomahawk. "Hold it right there, dope fiend. I ain't done with you yet."
Oliver turned lovingly, drew his water balloon, and faced Draco. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sociable? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a water balloon the way I can."
The two stared at each other tensely for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Draco lowered his tomahawk. "Okay buster you win," Draco orated ferociously. "You got a lotta eyebrows for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Oliver took his hand with a sleepy glare. "You know, pork chop, you're kinda absent-minded when you're angry."
Draco chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another piña colada," he belched.