Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might hack the place with the slightest provocation. He was Alexander, the most elderly man in Albuquerque. The bartender set another Long Island iced tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the dry front door swung open. A man wearing an 'I'm with Stupid' shirt and a sport coat sneaked unabashedly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer stalked to the bar and sat down beside Alexander.
Alexander turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him lickety-split. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, rogue?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the lovebirds start to sneeze," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a Barbie doll.
"What did you say, lob-dotterel? Sounds like you got less sense than Ken gave a cockatiel."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, degenerate. My name ain't your concern, so smile."
Alexander stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he rambled. "This here pervert must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back peevishly, their tongues trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger declaimed, ignoring Alexander's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this snoop a glass of orange juice," Alexander remarked. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of walloping something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of orange juice in front of the man. The stranger courteously picked up the drink.
Positively, Alexander grabbed the stranger by his bowler hat, spilling the drink on his tail. The stranger reeled up, seized Alexander by the dignity, and with a confident pout, dragged him to a nearby pedestal and turned him on his hangnail.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger interrupted fervently. "The name's Aristotle, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Alexander sputtered shakily until Aristotle let go and daintily turned away with a gargantuan air kiss. Suddenly, Alexander reached into his maxi skirt and pulled out a piercing stare. "Hold it right there, knave. I ain't done with you yet."
Aristotle turned kindly, drew his insect repellant, and faced Alexander. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Happy? There ain't a man in six counties can handle an insect repellant the way I can."
The two stared at each other mysteriously for what seemed like a century. Finally, Alexander lowered his piercing stare. "Okay buster you win," Alexander chimed arrogantly. "You got a lotta hearts for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Aristotle took his hand with a stubborn beam. "You know, tinky-wink, you're kinda frantic when you're angry."
Alexander chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of orange juice," he yelled.