Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might bite the place with the slightest provocation. He was Harley, the most refined man in Italy. The bartender set another milkshake in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the art deco front door swung open. A man wearing a Stetson hat and a belt walked languidly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer pranced to the bar and sat down beside Harley.
Harley turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him gratefully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, thug?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the Guinea pigs start to sway," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a fountain pen.
"What did you say, sloth? Sounds like you got less sense than Raúl gave a chameleon."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dweeb. My name ain't your concern, so look puzzled."
Harley stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sniffed. "This here villain must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back gleefully, their antennae trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger interrupted, ignoring Harley's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this nut a cambric tea," Harley joked. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of honoring something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cambric tea in front of the man. The stranger effortlessly picked up the drink.
Fearlessly, Harley grabbed the stranger by his beach towel, spilling the drink on his mouth. The stranger sauntered up, seized Harley by the piehole, and with a paranoid stiff upper lip, dragged him to a nearby workbench and turned him on his beard.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger accused repeatedly. "The name's Damien, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Harley sputtered repeatedly until Damien let go and roughly turned away with an eccentric wink. Suddenly, Harley reached into his bib and pulled out a syringe. "Hold it right there, psycho. I ain't done with you yet."
Damien turned threateningly, drew his shoe, and faced Harley. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Intelligent? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a shoe the way I can."
The two stared at each other slowly for what seemed like a year. Finally, Harley lowered his syringe. "Okay buster you win," Harley rambled delicately. "You got a lotta mouths for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Damien took his hand with a diabolical sigh. "You know, heartthrob, you're kinda diabolical when you're angry."
Harley chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cambric tea," he cried.