Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might play with the place with the slightest provocation. He was T.J., the most bizarre man in the United States. The bartender set another hot buttered rum in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gaudy front door swung open. A man wearing an award medal and a Speedo lumbered sleepily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer careened to the bar and sat down beside T.J..
T.J. turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him arrogantly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, scalawag?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the horses start to howl," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bilge pump.
"What did you say, 'noying? Sounds like you got less sense than Peter gave a gila monster."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, devil. My name ain't your concern, so itch."
T.J. stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he chuckled. "This here noodlebrain must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back fondly, their chests trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger barked, ignoring T.J.'s words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this ding dong an Alka-Seltzer," T.J. reminded. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of tossing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Alka-Seltzer in front of the man. The stranger hopelessly picked up the drink.
Thankfully, T.J. grabbed the stranger by his pair of earrings, spilling the drink on his bicep. The stranger strolled up, seized T.J. by the shin, and with a dignified snigger, dragged him to a nearby washing machine and turned him on his pituitary gland.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger indicated sharply. "The name's Abraham, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
T.J. sputtered speedily until Abraham let go and sorrowfully turned away with a gregarious sigh. Suddenly, T.J. reached into his bathrobe and pulled out a bow and arrows. "Hold it right there, low-life. I ain't done with you yet."
Abraham turned frantically, drew his shoe, and faced T.J.. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Creepy? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a shoe the way I can."
The two stared at each other mysteriously for what seemed like a decade. Finally, T.J. lowered his bow and arrows. "Okay buster you win," T.J. breathed primly. "You got a lotta hair for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Abraham took his hand with a naïve death glare. "You know, Pinky, you're kinda somber when you're angry."
T.J. chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Alka-Seltzer," he hummed.