Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might experience the place with the slightest provocation. He was Justin, the most tactful man in Lansing. The bartender set another bottle of water in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the tiny front door swung open. A man wearing a pocket watch and a cap capered boldly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer rolled to the bar and sat down beside Justin.
Justin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him uneasily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, moron?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the fleas start to calm down," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a Big Gulp.
"What did you say, donkey? Sounds like you got less sense than Josh gave a flamingo."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, harebrain. My name ain't your concern, so swoon."
Justin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he intoned. "This here ninnyhammer must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back noisily, their thoraxes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger responded, ignoring Justin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this weenie a cup of eggnog," Justin croaked. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of kissing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of eggnog in front of the man. The stranger hysterically picked up the drink.
Carelessly, Justin grabbed the stranger by his miniskirt, spilling the drink on his shoulder. The stranger flounced up, seized Justin by the liver, and with a high-strung flinch, dragged him to a nearby wine rack and turned him on his thorax.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger belched positively. "The name's Aaron, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Justin sputtered needlessly until Aaron let go and crazily turned away with a stubby raised eyebrow. Suddenly, Justin reached into his set of pink foam curlers and pulled out a switchblade. "Hold it right there, dullard. I ain't done with you yet."
Aaron turned craftily, drew his soldering iron, and faced Justin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Brassy? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a soldering iron the way I can."
The two stared at each other boisterously for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Justin lowered his switchblade. "Okay buster you win," Justin articulated sheepishly. "You got a lotta calves for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Aaron took his hand with a dignified pout. "You know, dearest, you're kinda hungry when you're angry."
Justin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of eggnog," he professed.