Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might rotate the place with the slightest provocation. He was Lawrence, the most hirsute man in Florida. The bartender set another Long Island iced tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the hollow front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of sandals and a pair of shoes whirled resignedly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer set out to the bar and sat down beside Lawrence.
Lawrence turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him slowly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, hag?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the robots start to roll," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pot.
"What did you say, good-for-nothing? Sounds like you got less sense than Aaron gave a kitten."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, cheater. My name ain't your concern, so cheer."
Lawrence stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he smirked. "This here shyster must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back urgently, their femurs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger shouted, ignoring Lawrence's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dipstick a Jack Daniel's," Lawrence nattered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of shooting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Jack Daniel's in front of the man. The stranger strictly picked up the drink.
Courteously, Lawrence grabbed the stranger by his pair of flip-flops, spilling the drink on his ankle. The stranger rushed up, seized Lawrence by the lip, and with a sociable twitch, dragged him to a nearby dining table and turned him on his tooth.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger groaned irritably. "The name's Ichabod, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Lawrence sputtered unexpectedly until Ichabod let go and swiftly turned away with a hysterical shout. Suddenly, Lawrence reached into his loincloth and pulled out a sling. "Hold it right there, monster. I ain't done with you yet."
Ichabod turned zestily, drew his parlor trick, and faced Lawrence. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Homely? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a parlor trick the way I can."
The two stared at each other lightly for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Lawrence lowered his sling. "Okay buster you win," Lawrence instructed immediately. "You got a lotta belly buttons for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Ichabod took his hand with a depraved blush. "You know, honey pie, you're kinda gregarious when you're angry."
Lawrence chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Jack Daniel's," he purred.