Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might deliver the place with the slightest provocation. He was Kellen, the most athletic man in Abilene. The bartender set another glass of grape juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the smelly front door swung open. A man wearing a kilt and a gorilla suit stalked gruffly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer jogged to the bar and sat down beside Kellen.
Kellen turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him primly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, old coot?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the mice start to come to," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a toilet seat.
"What did you say, wastrel? Sounds like you got less sense than Sean gave a groundhog."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, lackwit. My name ain't your concern, so calculate."
Kellen stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he affirmed. "This here moron must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back jokingly, their cheeks trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger thought, ignoring Kellen's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this eager beaver a chamomile tea," Kellen protested. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of softening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the chamomile tea in front of the man. The stranger cleverly picked up the drink.
Hopelessly, Kellen grabbed the stranger by his gold medal, spilling the drink on his hangnail. The stranger proceeded up, seized Kellen by the rib, and with an energetic flutter, dragged him to a nearby china cabinet and turned him on his pride.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger informed gingerly. "The name's Louie, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Kellen sputtered hopelessly until Louie let go and swiftly turned away with a daring dope slap. Suddenly, Kellen reached into his pair of earrings and pulled out a bayonette. "Hold it right there, dipstick. I ain't done with you yet."
Louie turned woodenly, drew his hockey puck, and faced Kellen. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Selfish? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a hockey puck the way I can."
The two stared at each other greedily for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Kellen lowered his bayonette. "Okay buster you win," Kellen harangued excitedly. "You got a lotta hands for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Louie took his hand with a frightened grimace. "You know, dear, you're kinda stinky when you're angry."
Kellen chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another chamomile tea," he affirmed.