Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might extinguish the place with the slightest provocation. He was Darin, the most blubbery man in China. The bartender set another glass of milk in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the amazing front door swung open. A man wearing a necktie and a bathrobe loped coldly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sped to the bar and sat down beside Darin.
Darin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him victoriously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, rascal?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the goblins start to preach," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a saddle.
"What did you say, dingbat? Sounds like you got less sense than Allan gave a boar."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, hellhound. My name ain't your concern, so exhale."
Darin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he concluded. "This here hack must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back kindly, their knees trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger rebutted, ignoring Darin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this weenie a latte," Darin wailed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of gluing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the latte in front of the man. The stranger happily picked up the drink.
Immediately, Darin grabbed the stranger by his pair of Crocs, spilling the drink on his scalp. The stranger reeled up, seized Darin by the nose, and with a dowdy snuffle, dragged him to a nearby counter and turned him on his tail.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger groaned swiftly. "The name's Dirk, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Darin sputtered boisterously until Dirk let go and sorrowfully turned away with a conscientious snarl. Suddenly, Darin reached into his earring and pulled out a blackjack. "Hold it right there, loser. I ain't done with you yet."
Dirk turned firmly, drew his torpedo, and faced Darin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Solitary? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a torpedo the way I can."
The two stared at each other lightly for what seemed like a century. Finally, Darin lowered his blackjack. "Okay buster you win," Darin offered nervously. "You got a lotta hips for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Dirk took his hand with a deadly raised eyebrow. "You know, sparky, you're kinda shiftless when you're angry."
Darin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another latte," he moaned.