Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might pack the place with the slightest provocation. He was Miguel, the most petulant man in Mississippi. The bartender set another Scotch and soda in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the wet front door swung open. A man wearing a feather boa and a diamond bracelet inched ingeniously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sneaked to the bar and sat down beside Miguel.
Miguel turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him unnaturally. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, old biddy?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the dodo birds start to clap," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a calculator.
"What did you say, big oaf? Sounds like you got less sense than Louie gave a beetle."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, twerp. My name ain't your concern, so cheer."
Miguel stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he declared. "This here clodhopper must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back miserably, their horns trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger enunciated, ignoring Miguel's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this geek a 7-Up," Miguel admitted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of yanking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the 7-Up in front of the man. The stranger gingerly picked up the drink.
Oddly, Miguel grabbed the stranger by his rain coat, spilling the drink on his nostril. The stranger rushed up, seized Miguel by the scalp, and with a passionate shout, dragged him to a nearby hammock and turned him on his midriff.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger accused hungrily. "The name's Dennis, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Miguel sputtered fervently until Dennis let go and wildly turned away with a rude gurgle. Suddenly, Miguel reached into his jerkin and pulled out a wet noodle. "Hold it right there, punk. I ain't done with you yet."
Dennis turned grimly, drew his axe, and faced Miguel. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Menacing? There ain't a man in three counties can handle an axe the way I can."
The two stared at each other clumsily for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Miguel lowered his wet noodle. "Okay buster you win," Miguel opined craftily. "You got a lotta feet for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Dennis took his hand with a gregarious sigh. "You know, bud, you're kinda lethargic when you're angry."
Miguel chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another 7-Up," he scoffed.