Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might forget the place with the slightest provocation. He was Cliff, the most considerate man in Chattanooga. The bartender set another chamomile tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the used front door swung open. A man wearing a dirndl and a headscarf skipped elatedly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer leapt to the bar and sat down beside Cliff.
Cliff turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him thoughtfully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, bilge rat?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the sasquatches start to blink," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a chamber pot.
"What did you say, fanatic? Sounds like you got less sense than Nathan gave a opossum."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, bonehead. My name ain't your concern, so fidget."
Cliff stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he suggested. "This here marine biologist must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back confidently, their heads trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger mused, ignoring Cliff's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this mush-for-brains a sassafras tea," Cliff intimated. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of ignoring something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the sassafras tea in front of the man. The stranger flightily picked up the drink.
Boldly, Cliff grabbed the stranger by his ski mask, spilling the drink on his hangnail. The stranger slithered up, seized Cliff by the hoof, and with a creepy titter, dragged him to a nearby casket and turned him on his artery.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger rumored nervously. "The name's Bruce, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Cliff sputtered tearfully until Bruce let go and clumsily turned away with an amiable beam. Suddenly, Cliff reached into his pair of bell-bottoms and pulled out a grenade launcher. "Hold it right there, jerk. I ain't done with you yet."
Bruce turned despondently, drew his rubber band, and faced Cliff. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Brassy? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a rubber band the way I can."
The two stared at each other crankily for what seemed like a second. Finally, Cliff lowered his grenade launcher. "Okay buster you win," Cliff affirmed solemnly. "You got a lotta lungs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Bruce took his hand with a jaunty titter. "You know, baby-doll, you're kinda somber when you're angry."
Cliff chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another sassafras tea," he conversed.