Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might neglect the place with the slightest provocation. He was Karl, the most muscular man in Albania. The bartender set another hot chocolate in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the smelly front door swung open. A man wearing a belt and a tattoo slunk ingeniously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sneaked to the bar and sat down beside Karl.
Karl turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him lamely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, imp?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the pumas start to yell," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a gun.
"What did you say, ghoul? Sounds like you got less sense than Hugh gave a Guinea pig."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, hack. My name ain't your concern, so sway."
Karl stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he queried. "This here goon must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back unexpectedly, their tongues trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger disputed, ignoring Karl's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this musk-ox a glass of grape juice," Karl acknowledged. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of enclosing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of grape juice in front of the man. The stranger gruffly picked up the drink.
Sleepily, Karl grabbed the stranger by his pair of moon boots, spilling the drink on his belly button. The stranger skidded up, seized Karl by the cheek, and with an annoying hiccup, dragged him to a nearby table and turned him on his eyelash.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger contended truculently. "The name's Alf, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Karl sputtered wildly until Alf let go and grimly turned away with a passionate flush. Suddenly, Karl reached into his bridal gown and pulled out a Nerf bat. "Hold it right there, dorf. I ain't done with you yet."
Alf turned confidently, drew his camera, and faced Karl. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Brazen? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a camera the way I can."
The two stared at each other nimbly for what seemed like a second. Finally, Karl lowered his Nerf bat. "Okay buster you win," Karl concluded fearlessly. "You got a lotta eyeballs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Alf took his hand with a loving frown. "You know, sweetie, you're kinda insane when you're angry."
Karl chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of grape juice," he complained.