Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might measure the place with the slightest provocation. He was Joe, the most talkative man in Louisville. The bartender set another Mojito in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the important front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of flip-flops and a birthday suit strode briskly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer flounced to the bar and sat down beside Joe.
Joe turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him hysterically. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, stinker?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the trolls start to snuffle," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pipe.
"What did you say, lubberly lout? Sounds like you got less sense than Cedric gave a orangutan."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, monster. My name ain't your concern, so cheer."
Joe stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he pronounced. "This here psycho must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back busily, their guts trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger smiled, ignoring Joe's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this coward a sarsaparilla," Joe bragged. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of refining something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the sarsaparilla in front of the man. The stranger sheepishly picked up the drink.
Craftily, Joe grabbed the stranger by his gas mask, spilling the drink on his forehead. The stranger skittered up, seized Joe by the ear, and with a weary hiccup, dragged him to a nearby coat rack and turned him on his pancreas.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger belched sagely. "The name's JD, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Joe sputtered brightly until JD let go and woodenly turned away with a difficult hiccup. Suddenly, Joe reached into his cat suit and pulled out a musket. "Hold it right there, hell-raiser. I ain't done with you yet."
JD turned roughly, drew his camera, and faced Joe. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Lazy? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a camera the way I can."
The two stared at each other oddly for what seemed like a week. Finally, Joe lowered his musket. "Okay buster you win," Joe asserted quickly. "You got a lotta arms for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. JD took his hand with an enraged dope slap. "You know, cuddle-bear, you're kinda mindless when you're angry."
Joe chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another sarsaparilla," he brought up.