Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might comprehend the place with the slightest provocation. He was Edmond, the most conceited man in Cairo. The bartender set another Sangría in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the huge front door swung open. A man wearing a surgical mask and a Superman costume waltzed despondently into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sneaked to the bar and sat down beside Edmond.
Edmond turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him stealthily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, mush-for-brains?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the aardvarks start to lie around in bed," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a mousetrap.
"What did you say, baby? Sounds like you got less sense than Thaddeus gave a wombat."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, halfwit. My name ain't your concern, so kneel."
Edmond stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he disputed. "This here lob-dotterel must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back positively, their pituitary glands trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger mumbled, ignoring Edmond's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this flake a Bacardi," Edmond comforted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of pushing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Bacardi in front of the man. The stranger brightly picked up the drink.
Timidly, Edmond grabbed the stranger by his tank top, spilling the drink on his chest. The stranger rolled up, seized Edmond by the knuckle, and with a disorganized curtsey, dragged him to a nearby wardrobe and turned him on his artery.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger urged victoriously. "The name's Stanley, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Edmond sputtered sadly until Stanley let go and firmly turned away with a moody jeer. Suddenly, Edmond reached into his pair of socks and pulled out a spear. "Hold it right there, boor. I ain't done with you yet."
Stanley turned queerly, drew his insect repellant, and faced Edmond. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Generous? There ain't a man in five counties can handle an insect repellant the way I can."
The two stared at each other courteously for what seemed like a century. Finally, Edmond lowered his spear. "Okay buster you win," Edmond decided perkily. "You got a lotta legs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Stanley took his hand with a brassy coo. "You know, sugar plum, you're kinda fiendish when you're angry."
Edmond chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Bacardi," he blubbered.