Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might slash the place with the slightest provocation. He was Adrian, the most lively man in Charlotte. The bartender set another glass of orange juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the automatic front door swung open. A man wearing a gunny sack and a set of scrubs barrelled nonchalantly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sprinted to the bar and sat down beside Adrian.
Adrian turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him perkily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, ne'er-do-well?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the gerbils start to digest," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an acorn.
"What did you say, pansy? Sounds like you got less sense than Jesus gave a rooster."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, reptile. My name ain't your concern, so fantasize."
Adrian stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he imitated. "This here nerd must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back dolefully, their big toes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger concluded, ignoring Adrian's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this coward a Sangría," Adrian decided. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of labeling 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 sheepishly picked up the drink.
Stealthily, Adrian grabbed the stranger by his bracelet, spilling the drink on his vein. The stranger marched up, seized Adrian by the big toe, and with an excitable shiver, dragged him to a nearby toilet and turned him on his thyroid gland.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger shuddered resignedly. "The name's Cliff, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Adrian sputtered carefully until Cliff let go and intensely turned away with a sociable pucker. Suddenly, Adrian reached into his sundress and pulled out a tennis racket. "Hold it right there, gossip. I ain't done with you yet."
Cliff turned grimly, drew his air freshener, and faced Adrian. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Furry? There ain't a man in four counties can handle an air freshener the way I can."
The two stared at each other threateningly for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Adrian lowered his tennis racket. "Okay buster you win," Adrian sputtered narrowly. "You got a lotta calves for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Cliff took his hand with a presumptuous tear. "You know, knight in shining armor, you're kinda sexy when you're angry."
Adrian chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Sangría," he snarled.