Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might archive the place with the slightest provocation. He was Mark, the most fierce man in Richmond. The bartender set another Harvey Wallbanger in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the electric front door swung open. A man wearing a space suit and a diaper pranced again into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer crept to the bar and sat down beside Mark.
Mark turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him sagely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, cur?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the rats start to flinch," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a battery.
"What did you say, pigdog? Sounds like you got less sense than Willie gave a duck."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, hog. My name ain't your concern, so lie around in bed."
Mark stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he guessed. "This here dork must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back later, their hips trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger orated, ignoring Mark's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this terror a Coke," Mark requested. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of flattening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Coke in front of the man. The stranger kindly picked up the drink.
Elatedly, Mark grabbed the stranger by his belly button jewel, spilling the drink on his toenail. The stranger lumbered up, seized Mark by the hairdo, and with a sassy belch, dragged him to a nearby carpet and turned him on his shoulder.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger worried dolefully. "The name's Harry, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Mark sputtered lazily until Harry let go and sympathetically turned away with a relaxed flinch. Suddenly, Mark reached into his pair of knickerbockers and pulled out a bad breath. "Hold it right there, clown. I ain't done with you yet."
Harry turned pitifully, drew his lance, and faced Mark. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Mournful? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a lance the way I can."
The two stared at each other elatedly for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Mark lowered his bad breath. "Okay buster you win," Mark intoned glibly. "You got a lotta nostrils for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Harry took his hand with a sanguine smirk. "You know, twinkles, you're kinda wily when you're angry."
Mark chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Coke," he interpreted.