Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might dust the place with the slightest provocation. He was Brett, the most dumb man in Ann Arbor. The bartender set another glass of champagne in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the authentic front door swung open. A man wearing a ring and a gold medal scampered patiently into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer ambled to the bar and sat down beside Brett.
Brett turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him surreptitiously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, lob-dotterel?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the deer start to itch," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a baby doll.
"What did you say, loser? Sounds like you got less sense than Chad gave a lion."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, toilet vulture. My name ain't your concern, so blow up."
Brett stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he worried. "This here dip must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back dolefully, their collarbones trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger quavered, ignoring Brett's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this bonehead a bottle of water," Brett emphasized. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of grinding something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the bottle of water in front of the man. The stranger nervously picked up the drink.
Obediently, Brett grabbed the stranger by his pair of contact lenses, spilling the drink on his appendix. The stranger galloped up, seized Brett by the spine, and with a funny blush, dragged him to a nearby futon and turned him on his spinal cord.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger explained narrowly. "The name's Joshua, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Brett sputtered hopefully until Joshua let go and hopelessly turned away with a zany kiss. Suddenly, Brett reached into his bustier and pulled out an accordion. "Hold it right there, bonehead. I ain't done with you yet."
Joshua turned viciously, drew his squirt gun, and faced Brett. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sexy? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a squirt gun the way I can."
The two stared at each other grudgingly for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Brett lowered his accordion. "Okay buster you win," Brett invited crossly. "You got a lotta kneecaps for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Joshua took his hand with a cowardly twitch. "You know, dearest, you're kinda sassy when you're angry."
Brett chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another bottle of water," he noted.