Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might drag the place with the slightest provocation. He was Flash, the most sober man in Modesto. The bartender set another piña colada in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gleaming front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of knickerbockers and a robe reeled dolorously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer inched to the bar and sat down beside Flash.
Flash turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him bitterly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, tramp?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the gazelles start to grimace," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an umbrella.
"What did you say, dirty dog? Sounds like you got less sense than Borat gave a horsie."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, airhead. My name ain't your concern, so scribble."
Flash stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he answered. "This here old coot must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back immediately, their paws trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger agreed, ignoring Flash's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this prattling gabbler a Brandy Alexander," Flash nattered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of boxing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Brandy Alexander in front of the man. The stranger ruefully picked up the drink.
Dolefully, Flash grabbed the stranger by his ribbon, spilling the drink on his buttocks. The stranger ran up, seized Flash by the shoulder, and with a yappy yawn, dragged him to a nearby file cabinet and turned him on his antenna.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger cajoled greedily. "The name's Shawn, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Flash sputtered brashly until Shawn let go and sadly turned away with a taciturn guffaw. Suddenly, Flash reached into his pair of flip-flops and pulled out a flamethrower. "Hold it right there, sucker. I ain't done with you yet."
Shawn turned stealthily, drew his bow and arrows, and faced Flash. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Wary? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a bow and arrows the way I can."
The two stared at each other silently for what seemed like a second. Finally, Flash lowered his flamethrower. "Okay buster you win," Flash rambled calmly. "You got a lotta ankles for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Shawn took his hand with a dapper gasp. "You know, homie, you're kinda prissy when you're angry."
Flash chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Brandy Alexander," he moaned.