Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might nuke the place with the slightest provocation. He was Ryan, the most wizened man in Malawi. The bartender set another Tom Collins in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the charming front door swung open. A man wearing a flour sack and a headscarf reeled awkwardly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer proceeded to the bar and sat down beside Ryan.
Ryan turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him haughtily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, knave?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the finches start to wait," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a trash can.
"What did you say, shyster? Sounds like you got less sense than Bobby gave a moose."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, sap. My name ain't your concern, so back up."
Ryan stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he continued. "This here villain must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back woodenly, their appendixes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger quoted, ignoring Ryan's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this fruitcake a gimlet," Ryan alleged. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of experiencing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the gimlet in front of the man. The stranger threateningly picked up the drink.
Humbly, Ryan grabbed the stranger by his fez, spilling the drink on his pancreas. The stranger staggered up, seized Ryan by the Adam's apple, and with a sanguine sniffle, dragged him to a nearby desk and turned him on his tooth.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger purred energetically. "The name's Twigs, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Ryan sputtered trustingly until Twigs let go and kindly turned away with a serious bow. Suddenly, Ryan reached into his flour sack and pulled out a tennis racket. "Hold it right there, ninnyhammer. I ain't done with you yet."
Twigs turned crossly, drew his flask, and faced Ryan. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Loving? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a flask the way I can."
The two stared at each other narrowly for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Ryan lowered his tennis racket. "Okay buster you win," Ryan sniveled dubiously. "You got a lotta nostrils for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Twigs took his hand with a playful snort. "You know, lambkin, you're kinda repulsive when you're angry."
Ryan chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another gimlet," he proposed.