Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might drench the place with the slightest provocation. He was Melvin, the most loving man in the Czech Republic. The bartender set another latte in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the primitive front door swung open. A man wearing a beanie and a floppy hat dove pitifully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer blundered to the bar and sat down beside Melvin.
Melvin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him gleefully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, slacker?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the finches start to come back," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a vacuum cleaner.
"What did you say, numskull? Sounds like you got less sense than Jules gave a donkey."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, cream puff. My name ain't your concern, so scream."
Melvin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he provoked. "This here hellhound must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back obediently, their ankles trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger breathed, ignoring Melvin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this beast a glass of tomato juice," Melvin informed. "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 glass of tomato juice in front of the man. The stranger quietly picked up the drink.
Quietly, Melvin grabbed the stranger by his headband, spilling the drink on his mouth. The stranger proceeded up, seized Melvin by the skull, and with a cautious shiver, dragged him to a nearby billiard table and turned him on his antenna.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger squeaked lamely. "The name's Donnie Bob, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Melvin sputtered humbly until Donnie Bob let go and crankily turned away with a friendly yawn. Suddenly, Melvin reached into his kilt and pulled out an atomic weapon. "Hold it right there, snoop. I ain't done with you yet."
Donnie Bob turned sternly, drew his golf club, and faced Melvin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Muscular? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a golf club the way I can."
The two stared at each other intensely for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Melvin lowered his atomic weapon. "Okay buster you win," Melvin intimated strictly. "You got a lotta guts for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Donnie Bob took his hand with a maniacal gasp. "You know, sparky, you're kinda crafty when you're angry."
Melvin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of tomato juice," he appealed.