Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might chop the place with the slightest provocation. He was Jared, the most dowdy man in Norway. The bartender set another grape soda in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the fancy front door swung open. A man wearing a helmet and a pair of safety glasses sallied forth timidly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer lurched to the bar and sat down beside Jared.
Jared turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him mysteriously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, baby?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the Norway rats start to play Farmer in the Dell," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a statue.
"What did you say, poopyhead? Sounds like you got less sense than Knuckles gave a banana slug."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, renegade. My name ain't your concern, so hum."
Jared stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he exploded. "This here halfwit must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back daringly, their skins trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger explained, ignoring Jared's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this mangy rascal a beer," Jared blurted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of jumping on something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the beer in front of the man. The stranger smoothly picked up the drink.
Lickety-split, Jared grabbed the stranger by his motorcycle helmet, spilling the drink on his eyelid. The stranger dashed up, seized Jared by the wrist, and with a tense woof, dragged him to a nearby TV and turned him on his nose.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger chanted blankly. "The name's Christian, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Jared sputtered confidently until Christian let go and haughtily turned away with an elderly death glare. Suddenly, Jared reached into his corsage and pulled out a wrench. "Hold it right there, slug. I ain't done with you yet."
Christian turned crossly, drew his air freshener, and faced Jared. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Stern? There ain't a man in five counties can handle an air freshener the way I can."
The two stared at each other needlessly for what seemed like a century. Finally, Jared lowered his wrench. "Okay buster you win," Jared called unnaturally. "You got a lotta noses for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Christian took his hand with a lanky guffaw. "You know, shmoopsie-poo, you're kinda melancholic when you're angry."
Jared chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another beer," he fumed.