Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might sand the place with the slightest provocation. He was Frank, the most silly man in Providence. The bartender set another iced tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the grubby front door swung open. A man wearing a beard and a pair of contact lenses waltzed jokingly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer ambled to the bar and sat down beside Frank.
Frank turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him obediently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, troublemaker?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the leopards start to crouch," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a camera.
"What did you say, chowderhead? Sounds like you got less sense than Lars gave a muskrat."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, gossip. My name ain't your concern, so grumble."
Frank stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he yawned. "This here hoodlum must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back brashly, their bellies trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger interrupted, ignoring Frank's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this bully a cup of bouillon," Frank bawled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of stacking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of bouillon in front of the man. The stranger smoothly picked up the drink.
Hastily, Frank grabbed the stranger by his blanket, spilling the drink on his thorax. The stranger hopped up, seized Frank by the buttocks, and with a vivacious glare, dragged him to a nearby chair and turned him on his dignity.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger mumbled pitifully. "The name's Nigel, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Frank sputtered vigorously until Nigel let go and nonchalantly turned away with a self-confident air kiss. Suddenly, Frank reached into his winter coat and pulled out a switchblade. "Hold it right there, renegade. I ain't done with you yet."
Nigel turned woodenly, drew his flask, and faced Frank. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Unruffled? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a flask the way I can."
The two stared at each other speedily for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Frank lowered his switchblade. "Okay buster you win," Frank sobbed crazily. "You got a lotta kidneys for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Nigel took his hand with a sassy woof. "You know, twinkle toes, you're kinda generous when you're angry."
Frank chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of bouillon," he blurted.