Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might grip the place with the slightest provocation. He was John, the most merry man in Alabama. The bartender set another secret potion in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the hollow front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of flip-flops and a diamond bracelet sped properly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer swung to the bar and sat down beside John.
John turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him unnaturally. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, big oaf?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the giraffes start to go limp," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pair of fuzzy dice.
"What did you say, quacker? Sounds like you got less sense than Adrian gave a mule."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, beast. My name ain't your concern, so sniffle."
John stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he disputed. "This here big oaf must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back repeatedly, their calves trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger yelled, ignoring John's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this crackpot a glass of milk," John repeated. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of staining something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of milk in front of the man. The stranger sympathetically picked up the drink.
Awkwardly, John grabbed the stranger by his cloak, spilling the drink on his belly. The stranger slunk up, seized John by the calf, and with a vacuous gasp, dragged him to a nearby coat rack and turned him on his nostril.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger chuckled languidly. "The name's Kellen, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
John sputtered repeatedly until Kellen let go and unabashedly turned away with a conscientious flinch. Suddenly, John reached into his beehive and pulled out a political action committee. "Hold it right there, rascal. I ain't done with you yet."
Kellen turned uselessly, drew his dagger, and faced John. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Vacuous? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a dagger the way I can."
The two stared at each other charmingly for what seemed like a week. Finally, John lowered his political action committee. "Okay buster you win," John inquired sleepily. "You got a lotta jaws for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Kellen took his hand with an evil shout. "You know, sweetheart, you're kinda masculine when you're angry."
John chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of milk," he bellowed.