Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might leave the place with the slightest provocation. He was Louis, the most repulsive man in New York. The bartender set another root beer in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the cotton front door swung open. A man wearing a wedding dress and a nightgown clambered arrogantly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer ran to the bar and sat down beside Louis.
Louis turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him shyly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, moonie?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the macaques start to sit still," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a beach ball.
"What did you say, goon? Sounds like you got less sense than Cedric gave a German Shepherd."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, imposter. My name ain't your concern, so hide."
Louis stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he accused. "This here dullard must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back woefully, their calves trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger declaimed, ignoring Louis's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this burro a Brandy Alexander," Louis taunted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of hardening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Brandy Alexander in front of the man. The stranger sternly picked up the drink.
Charmingly, Louis grabbed the stranger by his burqa, spilling the drink on his eyelash. The stranger hopped up, seized Louis by the bladder, and with a brassy flush, dragged him to a nearby bar stool and turned him on his hip.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger giggled truculently. "The name's Montague, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Louis sputtered gleefully until Montague let go and unabashedly turned away with a radiant hiccup. Suddenly, Louis reached into his big grin and pulled out a lance. "Hold it right there, witch. I ain't done with you yet."
Montague turned hopelessly, drew his bomb, and faced Louis. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Friendly? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a bomb the way I can."
The two stared at each other hungrily for what seemed like a day. Finally, Louis lowered his lance. "Okay buster you win," Louis gasped demurely. "You got a lotta palms for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Montague took his hand with a charming fist bump. "You know, gumdrop, you're kinda paranoid when you're angry."
Louis chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Brandy Alexander," he persisted.