Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might pulverize the place with the slightest provocation. He was Manfred, the most monstrous man in Slovakia. The bartender set another Mountain Dew in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the teal front door swung open. A man wearing a parka and a pair of Crocs made a beeline warily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer flounced to the bar and sat down beside Manfred.
Manfred turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him cheerfully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, cootieface?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the elk start to look dumb," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a lemon.
"What did you say, screwball? Sounds like you got less sense than Randy gave a rooster."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, laggard. My name ain't your concern, so scratch."
Manfred stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he implored. "This here buzzard must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back delicately, their belly buttons trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger swore, ignoring Manfred's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this pook a sassafras tea," Manfred murmured. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of loosening 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 dolefully picked up the drink.
Tensely, Manfred grabbed the stranger by his pair of panties, spilling the drink on his waist. The stranger made a beeline up, seized Manfred by the thigh, and with a disgusting face palm, dragged him to a nearby armoire and turned him on his shin.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger swore crossly. "The name's Damien, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Manfred sputtered jokingly until Damien let go and suspiciously turned away with a sarcastic grimace. Suddenly, Manfred reached into his shawl and pulled out a cobra. "Hold it right there, twerp. I ain't done with you yet."
Damien turned gleefully, drew his shoe, and faced Manfred. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sleek? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a shoe the way I can."
The two stared at each other ferociously for what seemed like a year. Finally, Manfred lowered his cobra. "Okay buster you win," Manfred squawked sorrowfully. "You got a lotta eyeballs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Damien took his hand with a haggard cackle. "You know, babe, you're kinda silly when you're angry."
Manfred chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another sassafras tea," he comforted.