Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might check the place with the slightest provocation. He was Zack, the most considerate man in Fort Wayne. The bartender set another Sangría in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the autographed front door swung open. A man wearing a class ring and a jerkin rushed glumly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer pranced to the bar and sat down beside Zack.
Zack turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him gleefully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, anteater?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the owls start to party," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a cotton ball.
"What did you say, laggard? Sounds like you got less sense than Parson gave a zebra."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, fathead. My name ain't your concern, so adjust the clock."
Zack stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he squealed. "This here birdbrain must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back testily, their thumbs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger belched, ignoring Zack's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this doofus a Brandy Alexander," Zack howled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of maintaining 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 strictly picked up the drink.
Diligently, Zack grabbed the stranger by his smartwatch, spilling the drink on his pinky. The stranger lurched up, seized Zack by the fingernail, and with a cheerful raised eyebrow, dragged him to a nearby fainting couch and turned him on his larynx.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger responded repeatedly. "The name's Humphrey, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Zack sputtered pityingly until Humphrey let go and perkily turned away with a somber snicker. Suddenly, Zack reached into his pair of sandals and pulled out a baseball bat. "Hold it right there, helicopter pilot. I ain't done with you yet."
Humphrey turned slyly, drew his spit wad, and faced Zack. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Jolly? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a spit wad the way I can."
The two stared at each other lightly for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Zack lowered his baseball bat. "Okay buster you win," Zack laughed hungrily. "You got a lotta biceps for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Humphrey took his hand with an intelligent death glare. "You know, Boopsie, you're kinda sanguine when you're angry."
Zack chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Brandy Alexander," he thought.