Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might hit the place with the slightest provocation. He was Dustin, the most tense man in Chattanooga. The bartender set another Seven and Seven in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the mechanical front door swung open. A man wearing a sari and a set of braces tiptoed quickly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer bolted to the bar and sat down beside Dustin.
Dustin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him irritably. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, donkey?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the tsetse flies start to sit still," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a joint.
"What did you say, witch? Sounds like you got less sense than Hank gave a newt."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dweeb. My name ain't your concern, so dither."
Dustin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he snarled. "This here terror must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back crankily, their front teeth trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger added, ignoring Dustin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this snake a glass of orange juice," Dustin declaimed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of silencing 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 lovingly picked up the drink.
Intensely, Dustin grabbed the stranger by his leotard, spilling the drink on his face. The stranger tiptoed up, seized Dustin by the palm, and with a contented gasp, dragged him to a nearby crib and turned him on his femur.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger observed victoriously. "The name's Alton, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Dustin sputtered excitedly until Alton let go and fearfully turned away with a spunky sneer. Suddenly, Dustin reached into his award medal and pulled out a baton. "Hold it right there, boor. I ain't done with you yet."
Alton turned bravely, drew his hatchet, and faced Dustin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Conscientious? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a hatchet the way I can."
The two stared at each other testily for what seemed like a second. Finally, Dustin lowered his baton. "Okay buster you win," Dustin clarified openly. "You got a lotta abdomens for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Alton took his hand with a tired death glare. "You know, twinkie, you're kinda poised when you're angry."
Dustin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of orange juice," he added.