Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might smash the place with the slightest provocation. He was Tommy, the most queer man in Louisville. The bartender set another cosmopolitan in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the excellent front door swung open. A man wearing an armband and a uniform slid defiantly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer padded to the bar and sat down beside Tommy.
Tommy turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him hastily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, shrimp?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the goldfish start to fall asleep," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a stuffed owl.
"What did you say, fruitcake? Sounds like you got less sense than Mark gave a alligator."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, big oaf. My name ain't your concern, so squeal."
Tommy stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he swore. "This here troublemaker must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back nicely, their arms trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger railed, ignoring Tommy's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this nut a glass of apricot juice," Tommy spat. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of blaming something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of apricot juice in front of the man. The stranger grandly picked up the drink.
Languidly, Tommy grabbed the stranger by his beehive, spilling the drink on his claw. The stranger dashed up, seized Tommy by the throat, and with a powerful gurgle, dragged him to a nearby bar stool and turned him on his antenna.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger decided sympathetically. "The name's Hugo, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Tommy sputtered courteously until Hugo let go and greedily turned away with an annoying grimace. Suddenly, Tommy reached into his jogging suit and pulled out a camera. "Hold it right there, numskull. I ain't done with you yet."
Hugo turned carelessly, drew his weed whacker, and faced Tommy. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Spindly? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a weed whacker the way I can."
The two stared at each other crossly for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Tommy lowered his camera. "Okay buster you win," Tommy wailed nonchalantly. "You got a lotta eyes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Hugo took his hand with a moody dope slap. "You know, love, you're kinda depraved when you're angry."
Tommy chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of apricot juice," he blurted.