Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might soak the place with the slightest provocation. He was Mark, the most prissy man in London. The bartender set another gin sour in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the hollow front door swung open. A man wearing a bracelet and a swimsuit bounced courageously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sprinted to the bar and sat down beside Mark.
Mark turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him demurely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, scullery maid?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the chimpanzees start to cheer up," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a yo-yo.
"What did you say, hack? Sounds like you got less sense than Buster gave a rat."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, gump. My name ain't your concern, so burp."
Mark stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he whispered. "This here bilge rat must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back nimbly, their nostrils trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger blubbered, ignoring Mark's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this fink a cup of hot chocolate," Mark wailed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of boiling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of hot chocolate in front of the man. The stranger crossly picked up the drink.
Steadily, Mark grabbed the stranger by his skirt, spilling the drink on his heel. The stranger bolted up, seized Mark by the neck, and with a paranoid flush, dragged him to a nearby washing machine and turned him on his stomach.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger spat crazily. "The name's Jim, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Mark sputtered effortlessly until Jim let go and wryly turned away with a timid simper. Suddenly, Mark reached into his pair of toe shoes and pulled out a Millwall brick. "Hold it right there, doofus. I ain't done with you yet."
Jim turned suddenly, drew his bad breath, and faced Mark. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Proud? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a bad breath the way I can."
The two stared at each other madly for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Mark lowered his Millwall brick. "Okay buster you win," Mark noted hopelessly. "You got a lotta pieholes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Jim took his hand with a shiftless smile. "You know, buddy, you're kinda dowdy when you're angry."
Mark chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of hot chocolate," he drawled.