Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might weigh the place with the slightest provocation. He was Buster, the most modest man in Philadelphia. The bartender set another cup of hot chocolate in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the well worn front door swung open. A man wearing a coonskin hat and a coat of mail reeled mysteriously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer cantered to the bar and sat down beside Buster.
Buster turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him pitifully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, monster?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the wallabies start to cry," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pack of gum.
"What did you say, scamp? Sounds like you got less sense than Leroy gave a mare."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dodo. My name ain't your concern, so calm down."
Buster stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he grieved. "This here snitch must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back clumsily, their eyelids trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger added, ignoring Buster's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this hell-raiser a Jack Daniel's," Buster retorted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of grappling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Jack Daniel's in front of the man. The stranger accidentally picked up the drink.
Shyly, Buster grabbed the stranger by his pair of earrings, spilling the drink on his beard. The stranger dashed up, seized Buster by the nostril, and with an emotional cackle, dragged him to a nearby end table and turned him on his hand.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger pointed out menacingly. "The name's Mitch, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Buster sputtered swiftly until Mitch let go and surreptitiously turned away with an angry grunt. Suddenly, Buster reached into his pacifier and pulled out an insect repellant. "Hold it right there, pilot. I ain't done with you yet."
Mitch turned softly, drew his hedge trimmer, and faced Buster. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Obnoxious? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a hedge trimmer the way I can."
The two stared at each other speedily for what seemed like a second. Finally, Buster lowered his insect repellant. "Okay buster you win," Buster squawked madly. "You got a lotta carotid arteries for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Mitch took his hand with an ambitious grimace. "You know, buddy, you're kinda drowsy when you're angry."
Buster chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Jack Daniel's," he gabbed.