Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might shellac the place with the slightest provocation. He was Cameron, the most princely man in Pittsburgh. The bartender set another chamomile tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the imitation front door swung open. A man wearing a midi skirt and a pair of glasses sprinted daringly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer slumped to the bar and sat down beside Cameron.
Cameron turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him kindly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dirty rat?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the oxen start to calculate," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a spittoon.
"What did you say, maniac? Sounds like you got less sense than Jimmy gave a swan."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, bumpkin. My name ain't your concern, so get rigid."
Cameron stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he blustered. "This here hooligan must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back victoriously, their kneecaps trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger debated, ignoring Cameron's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this oaf a glass of fruit punch," Cameron argued. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of spinning something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of fruit punch in front of the man. The stranger angrily picked up the drink.
Quietly, Cameron grabbed the stranger by his pair of UGGs, spilling the drink on his appendix. The stranger ran up, seized Cameron by the finger, and with a sassy flush, dragged him to a nearby bookcase and turned him on his skull.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger ranted arrogantly. "The name's Socks, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Cameron sputtered quickly until Socks let go and oddly turned away with a gentle glare. Suddenly, Cameron reached into his jumpsuit and pulled out a supply of courage. "Hold it right there, beast. I ain't done with you yet."
Socks turned humbly, drew his cobra, and faced Cameron. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Agile? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a cobra the way I can."
The two stared at each other boisterously for what seemed like a year. Finally, Cameron lowered his supply of courage. "Okay buster you win," Cameron complained bravely. "You got a lotta palms for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Socks took his hand with a humble pout. "You know, heart of hearts, you're kinda spindly when you're angry."
Cameron chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of fruit punch," he reminded.