Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might deliver the place with the slightest provocation. He was Isaac, the most phlegmatic man in Libya. The bartender set another rum and Coke in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the crooked front door swung open. A man wearing a flour sack and a loincloth strode gingerly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer zipped to the bar and sat down beside Isaac.
Isaac turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him lightly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, cream puff?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the sloths start to doodle," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a diagram.
"What did you say, ignoramous? Sounds like you got less sense than Jim gave a mosquito."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, goose. My name ain't your concern, so quiver."
Isaac stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he mused. "This here slubberdegullion must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back merrily, their kidneys trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger trumpeted, ignoring Isaac's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this scoundrel a shot of bourbon," Isaac conversed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of heating something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the shot of bourbon in front of the man. The stranger nimbly picked up the drink.
Fearfully, Isaac grabbed the stranger by his pair of gloves, spilling the drink on his eye. The stranger strolled up, seized Isaac by the toupee, and with a cheerful shiver, dragged him to a nearby recliner and turned him on his eyeball.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger hollered deftly. "The name's Bum, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Isaac sputtered angrily until Bum let go and grudgingly turned away with a timid chuckle. Suddenly, Isaac reached into his poncho and pulled out a supply of courage. "Hold it right there, bilge rat. I ain't done with you yet."
Bum turned awkwardly, drew his Colt 45, and faced Isaac. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Daring? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a Colt 45 the way I can."
The two stared at each other timidly for what seemed like a week. Finally, Isaac lowered his supply of courage. "Okay buster you win," Isaac conversed innocently. "You got a lotta intestines for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Bum took his hand with a bold cackle. "You know, dearest, you're kinda spindly when you're angry."
Isaac chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another shot of bourbon," he complained.