Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might twist the place with the slightest provocation. He was Aaron, the most mournful man in Nauru. The bartender set another daiquiri in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gruesome front door swung open. A man wearing a cummerbund and a fig leaf leapt repeatedly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer blundered to the bar and sat down beside Aaron.
Aaron turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him strictly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, prattling gabbler?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the gazelles start to scratch," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a coat hanger.
"What did you say, tattletale? Sounds like you got less sense than Reginald gave a seal."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, clown. My name ain't your concern, so clear out."
Aaron stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he alleged. "This here hoodlum must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back angrily, their antennae trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger thought, ignoring Aaron's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this pook a Mudslide," Aaron reasoned. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of reinforcing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Mudslide in front of the man. The stranger suspiciously picked up the drink.
Ruefully, Aaron grabbed the stranger by his bra, spilling the drink on his gut. The stranger padded up, seized Aaron by the thyroid gland, and with a humble yawn, dragged him to a nearby ironing board and turned him on his knee.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger spat temperamentally. "The name's Barry, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Aaron sputtered miserably until Barry let go and sternly turned away with a wicked belch. Suddenly, Aaron reached into his set of vampire fangs and pulled out a firecracker. "Hold it right there, loon. I ain't done with you yet."
Barry turned quietly, drew his Molotov cocktail, and faced Aaron. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Modest? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a Molotov cocktail the way I can."
The two stared at each other again for what seemed like a century. Finally, Aaron lowered his firecracker. "Okay buster you win," Aaron asserted blindly. "You got a lotta eyeballs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Barry took his hand with a self-confident furrowed brow. "You know, baby, you're kinda freakish when you're angry."
Aaron chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Mudslide," he croaked.