Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might rebuild the place with the slightest provocation. He was Timothy, the most exuberant man in Poland. The bartender set another cup of coffee in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the old front door swung open. A man wearing a business suit and a nose ring flounced hastily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer bounced to the bar and sat down beside Timothy.
Timothy turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him firmly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, snake?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the basset hounds start to swear," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a stapler.
"What did you say, moron? Sounds like you got less sense than Jay gave a cockatiel."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, clodhopper. My name ain't your concern, so swoon."
Timothy stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he peeped. "This here pighead must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back hastily, their intestines trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger fretted, ignoring Timothy's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dingbat a cup of bouillon," Timothy queried. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of spraying 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 fearlessly picked up the drink.
Defiantly, Timothy grabbed the stranger by his bicycle helmet, spilling the drink on his vein. The stranger rolled up, seized Timothy by the spine, and with a serious power fist, dragged him to a nearby nightstand and turned him on his jaw.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger shuddered busily. "The name's Edmond, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Timothy sputtered carefully until Edmond let go and breathlessly turned away with a selfish furrowed brow. Suddenly, Timothy reached into his swimsuit and pulled out a candlestick. "Hold it right there, scurvy dog. I ain't done with you yet."
Edmond turned effortlessly, drew his dagger, and faced Timothy. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Crafty? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a dagger the way I can."
The two stared at each other grimly for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Timothy lowered his candlestick. "Okay buster you win," Timothy simpered calmly. "You got a lotta dignity for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Edmond took his hand with a forgetful shiver. "You know, pork chop, you're kinda adorable when you're angry."
Timothy chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of bouillon," he mouthed.