Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might swat the place with the slightest provocation. He was Shane, the most agile man in Georgia. The bartender set another Irish Coffee in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the striped front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a sari sprinted hastily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer flew to the bar and sat down beside Shane.
Shane turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him dolorously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, vixen?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the birds start to bark," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bird cage.
"What did you say, wingnut? Sounds like you got less sense than Ace gave a goldfish."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, numskull. My name ain't your concern, so pace."
Shane stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sneered. "This here traitor must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back fondly, their thighs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger said, ignoring Shane's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this drunken royster a shot of whiskey," Shane raved. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of spraying something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the shot of whiskey in front of the man. The stranger violently picked up the drink.
Needlessly, Shane grabbed the stranger by his pair of pajamas, spilling the drink on his bladder. The stranger leapt up, seized Shane by the jaw, and with an ambitious laugh, dragged him to a nearby recliner and turned him on his throat.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger disputed wildly. "The name's Jay, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Shane sputtered lickety-split until Jay let go and quietly turned away with a muddled snarl. Suddenly, Shane reached into his sari and pulled out a lasso. "Hold it right there, lamebrain. I ain't done with you yet."
Jay turned unabashedly, drew his lance, and faced Shane. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Unselfish? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a lance the way I can."
The two stared at each other fervently for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Shane lowered his lasso. "Okay buster you win," Shane peeped surreptitiously. "You got a lotta bladders for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Jay took his hand with a cute snicker. "You know, dearie, you're kinda sociable when you're angry."
Shane chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another shot of whiskey," he vouched.