It’s been a dreary night, so Oldguy
drops by the Red Eagle Tap, a dive
even the police avoid. Conversations
cease at his entry. When he orders
his usual, a double sarsaparilla,
the bartender asks him if he’d like
a kiddie straw. Before he can answer,
a guy in a chain-adorned leather jacket,
his name, Butcher, stitched on the back,
barks, “Hey, Grandpa, you always
dress like a flaming fruit?” Oldguy
takes this as an expression of concern
and assures him that his cape is flame-
resistant. “Hey, everybody,” says Butcher,
“Grandpa here’s a smart-ass. Let’s see if
his punch is as big as his mouth.”
Oldguy says that he prefers sarsaparilla
to punch, which he finds too sweet.
“Well, see how this tastes, fruitcake,”
says Butcher. But as he leans back
for a haymaker, Oldguy jerks up
both hands into an attack position
he once saw on a Kung Fu rerun,
punctuating the move with a “Kee-HA”
he heard on the same show. “Jesus!”
says the guy to the other customers
as he jumps back. “Did ya see
the speed of that old guy’s hands?
He’s some kinda kung fu master,
coulda broke both my arms before
I landed a punch. This guy’s drinks
are on me,” he says to the now-
respectful bartender. “What is
more forceful, Grasshopper, than
quiet water?” says Oldguy, masterfully.