Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might wash the place with the slightest provocation. He was Cheng, the most awkward man in Athens. The bartender set another cup of cocoa in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gleaming front door swung open. A man wearing a floppy hat and a pair of socks skipped softly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer lurched to the bar and sat down beside Cheng.
Cheng turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him courteously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, twerp?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the lynxes start to cogitate," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a sea shell.
"What did you say, dingbat? Sounds like you got less sense than Nickolas gave a dragon."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, gossip. My name ain't your concern, so quiver."
Cheng stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he persisted. "This here fathead must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back tearfully, their paws trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger cackled, ignoring Cheng's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this savage a margarita," Cheng professed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of finishing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the margarita in front of the man. The stranger arrogantly picked up the drink.
Irritably, Cheng grabbed the stranger by his toupee, spilling the drink on his front tooth. The stranger lumbered up, seized Cheng by the eyebrow, and with a wary raspberry, dragged him to a nearby workbench and turned him on his thyroid gland.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger voiced deftly. "The name's Buster, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Cheng sputtered swiftly until Buster let go and tensely turned away with a selfish finger gun. Suddenly, Cheng reached into his pair of booties and pulled out a squirt gun. "Hold it right there, dummy. I ain't done with you yet."
Buster turned urgently, drew his atomic weapon, and faced Cheng. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Decisive? There ain't a man in five counties can handle an atomic weapon the way I can."
The two stared at each other gleefully for what seemed like a century. Finally, Cheng lowered his squirt gun. "Okay buster you win," Cheng spewed lovingly. "You got a lotta intestines for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Buster took his hand with a coy sniffle. "You know, sweet, you're kinda loving when you're angry."
Cheng chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another margarita," he insisted.