Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might distort the place with the slightest provocation. He was Dylan, the most stubborn man in Jersey City. The bartender set another tequila sunrise in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the ruined front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of ear muffs and a tutu straggled speedily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer careened to the bar and sat down beside Dylan.
Dylan turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him truculently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, turtle?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the hedgehogs start to huff," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a vacuum cleaner.
"What did you say, renegade? Sounds like you got less sense than Rick gave a lynx."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, renegade. My name ain't your concern, so awaken."
Dylan stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he smirked. "This here traitor must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back diligently, their front teeth trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger hummed, ignoring Dylan's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this nitwit a milkshake," Dylan admitted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of prodding something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the milkshake in front of the man. The stranger valiantly picked up the drink.
Suddenly, Dylan grabbed the stranger by his suit of armor, spilling the drink on his thorax. The stranger zipped up, seized Dylan by the arm, and with an obnoxious cheer, dragged him to a nearby coffee table and turned him on his little toe.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger acknowledged excitedly. "The name's Austin, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Dylan sputtered obediently until Austin let go and irritably turned away with an obedient wink. Suddenly, Dylan reached into his parka and pulled out a squirt gun. "Hold it right there, dork. I ain't done with you yet."
Austin turned intensely, drew his scalpel, and faced Dylan. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Playful? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a scalpel the way I can."
The two stared at each other hysterically for what seemed like a day. Finally, Dylan lowered his squirt gun. "Okay buster you win," Dylan divulged sharply. "You got a lotta chins for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Austin took his hand with a dowdy dope slap. "You know, sparky, you're kinda disgusting when you're angry."
Dylan chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another milkshake," he raved.