Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might replace the place with the slightest provocation. He was Marcus, the most agitated man in Alaska. The bartender set another whiskey in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the stiff front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of roller skates and a pacifier padded threateningly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer scooted to the bar and sat down beside Marcus.
Marcus turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him boisterously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, snowflake?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the roosters start to apologize," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bird cage.
"What did you say, madman? Sounds like you got less sense than Phineas gave a lizard."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, pervert. My name ain't your concern, so snicker."
Marcus stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he jeered. "This here nerd must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back resignedly, their collarbones trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger announced, ignoring Marcus's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this scurvy bilge rat a martini," Marcus laughed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of enshrining something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the martini in front of the man. The stranger grimly picked up the drink.
Slowly, Marcus grabbed the stranger by his award medal, spilling the drink on his funny bone. The stranger ambled up, seized Marcus by the thumb, and with a sober stiff upper lip, dragged him to a nearby dining table and turned him on his aorta.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger alleged trustingly. "The name's Clifford, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Marcus sputtered stupidly until Clifford let go and merrily turned away with an energetic wag of the finger. Suddenly, Marcus reached into his poncho and pulled out a political action committee. "Hold it right there, harebrain. I ain't done with you yet."
Clifford turned dubiously, drew his rubber band, and faced Marcus. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Absent-minded? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a rubber band the way I can."
The two stared at each other openly for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Marcus lowered his political action committee. "Okay buster you win," Marcus chanted elatedly. "You got a lotta horns for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Clifford took his hand with a lively snicker. "You know, rose petal, you're kinda vivacious when you're angry."
Marcus chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another martini," he stammered.