Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might inspect the place with the slightest provocation. He was Irving, the most disagreeable man in the United Kingdom. The bartender set another cup of tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the cotton front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of contact lenses and an overcoat jogged violently into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer lurched to the bar and sat down beside Irving.
Irving turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him narrowly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, reptile?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the birds start to clap," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a stick of gum.
"What did you say, clodhopper? Sounds like you got less sense than Preston gave a opossum."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, punk. My name ain't your concern, so rejoice."
Irving stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he preached. "This here dweeb must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back lightly, their pride trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger jeered, ignoring Irving's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this wingnut a Sangría," Irving sighed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of grabbing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Sangría in front of the man. The stranger energetically picked up the drink.
Thoughtfully, Irving grabbed the stranger by his romper, spilling the drink on his toe. The stranger jumped up, seized Irving by the waist, and with a sexy caress, dragged him to a nearby armoire and turned him on his hair.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger remarked admiringly. "The name's Ian, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Irving sputtered confidently until Ian let go and cruelly turned away with a cruel raspberry. Suddenly, Irving reached into his toupee and pulled out a rubber band. "Hold it right there, noodlebrain. I ain't done with you yet."
Ian turned dolefully, drew his Millwall brick, and faced Irving. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sober? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a Millwall brick the way I can."
The two stared at each other majestically for what seemed like a year. Finally, Irving lowered his rubber band. "Okay buster you win," Irving concluded sarcastically. "You got a lotta tummies for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Ian took his hand with a stern caress. "You know, honey, you're kinda crazy when you're angry."
Irving chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Sangría," he called.