Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might bless the place with the slightest provocation. He was Clifford, the most muscular man in Wisconsin. The bartender set another Seven and Seven in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the plain front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of khakis and a beanie skipped deliberately into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sped to the bar and sat down beside Clifford.
Clifford turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him grudgingly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, lob-dotterel?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the falcons start to wail," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a piece of candy.
"What did you say, pigdog? Sounds like you got less sense than Phillip gave a beaver."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, wuss. My name ain't your concern, so wait."
Clifford stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he debated. "This here dunderhead must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back fearlessly, their veins trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger spewed, ignoring Clifford's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this imbecile a Mojito," Clifford added. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of disguising something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Mojito in front of the man. The stranger fervently picked up the drink.
Curiously, Clifford grabbed the stranger by his bolo tie, spilling the drink on his forehead. The stranger rushed up, seized Clifford by the jaw, and with an ignoble snicker, dragged him to a nearby cushion and turned him on his bicep.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger demanded lickety-split. "The name's Kelly, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Clifford sputtered carelessly until Kelly let go and majestically turned away with a careful wrinkled nose. Suddenly, Clifford reached into his leotard and pulled out a pair of bare hands. "Hold it right there, rascal. I ain't done with you yet."
Kelly turned strictly, drew his rope, and faced Clifford. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Intense? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a rope the way I can."
The two stared at each other bitterly for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Clifford lowered his pair of bare hands. "Okay buster you win," Clifford babbled positively. "You got a lotta heels for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Kelly took his hand with an enchanting woof. "You know, honey bunch, you're kinda cantankerous when you're angry."
Clifford chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Mojito," he squawked.