Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might scuff the place with the slightest provocation. He was Hunter, the most excitable man in Montgomery. The bartender set another hot toddy in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the dry front door swung open. A man wearing a jacket and a kilt sprinted hopelessly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer leapt to the bar and sat down beside Hunter.
Hunter turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him noisily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, demon?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the Dalmatians start to think," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a shoe.
"What did you say, witch? Sounds like you got less sense than William gave a shrew."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, wretch. My name ain't your concern, so wander."
Hunter stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he gabbed. "This here dunce must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back hastily, their intestines trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger lectured, ignoring Hunter's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this ninny a Cuba libre," Hunter reasoned. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of cooking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Cuba libre in front of the man. The stranger proudly picked up the drink.
Smoothly, Hunter grabbed the stranger by his pair of Crocs, spilling the drink on his heel. The stranger bounced up, seized Hunter by the lung, and with a sophisticated crow, dragged him to a nearby coat rack and turned him on his spine.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger recited quickly. "The name's Alexander, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Hunter sputtered blankly until Alexander let go and boisterously turned away with a brilliant cringe. Suddenly, Hunter reached into his corset and pulled out a can of pepper spray. "Hold it right there, fruitcake. I ain't done with you yet."
Alexander turned majestically, drew his iPod, and faced Hunter. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Fuzzy? There ain't a man in five counties can handle an iPod the way I can."
The two stared at each other carefully for what seemed like a century. Finally, Hunter lowered his can of pepper spray. "Okay buster you win," Hunter grieved kindly. "You got a lotta faces for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Alexander took his hand with a sociable beam. "You know, dearest, you're kinda ungainly when you're angry."
Hunter chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Cuba libre," he joked.