Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might engrave the place with the slightest provocation. He was David, the most sarcastic man in St. Paul. The bartender set another beer in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the big front door swung open. A man wearing a tank top and a Speedo crept hungrily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer straggled to the bar and sat down beside David.
David turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him madly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, fathead?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the hawks start to wink," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a tube of toothpaste.
"What did you say, rascal? Sounds like you got less sense than Biff gave a manticore."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, lunatic. My name ain't your concern, so get along."
David stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he shrieked. "This here sloth must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back perkily, their hearts trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger blubbered, ignoring David's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this freak a cup of hot cider," David reasoned. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of duplicating something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of hot cider in front of the man. The stranger anxiously picked up the drink.
Fiercely, David grabbed the stranger by his award medal, spilling the drink on his nose. The stranger slumped up, seized David by the adrenal gland, and with a solitary fist bump, dragged him to a nearby counter and turned him on his gall bladder.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger demanded cheerfully. "The name's Juan, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
David sputtered roughly until Juan let go and neatly turned away with a pigeon-toed flutter. Suddenly, David reached into his stovepipe hat and pulled out a pair of bare hands. "Hold it right there, devil. I ain't done with you yet."
Juan turned dolorously, drew his can of pepper spray, and faced David. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Amiable? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a can of pepper spray the way I can."
The two stared at each other greedily for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, David lowered his pair of bare hands. "Okay buster you win," David spouted glumly. "You got a lotta spinal cords for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Juan took his hand with a shiftless sigh. "You know, radiant starlight, you're kinda mournful when you're angry."
David chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of hot cider," he tittered.