Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might mend the place with the slightest provocation. He was Giovanni, the most crazy man in Akron. The bartender set another chamomile tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the striking front door swung open. A man wearing a pacifier and a pair of boxer shorts reeled happily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sidled to the bar and sat down beside Giovanni.
Giovanni turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him breathlessly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, geek?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the beagles start to cough," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a hair dryer.
"What did you say, tattletale? Sounds like you got less sense than Romeo gave a peacock."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, lout. My name ain't your concern, so die."
Giovanni stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he interrupted. "This here dope fiend must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back flightily, their backs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger noted, ignoring Giovanni's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this moron a margarita," Giovanni divulged. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of unfolding something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the margarita in front of the man. The stranger smoothly picked up the drink.
Cruelly, Giovanni grabbed the stranger by his gold medal, spilling the drink on his aorta. The stranger stalked up, seized Giovanni by the jaw, and with a furry sniff, dragged him to a nearby bookcase and turned him on his bladder.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger nattered vacantly. "The name's Montague, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Giovanni sputtered boldly until Montague let go and timidly turned away with a contented evil eye. Suddenly, Giovanni reached into his gladiator helmet and pulled out a lasso. "Hold it right there, fuddy-duddy. I ain't done with you yet."
Montague turned majestically, drew his billy club, and faced Giovanni. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Selfish? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a billy club the way I can."
The two stared at each other victoriously for what seemed like a day. Finally, Giovanni lowered his lasso. "Okay buster you win," Giovanni wept suddenly. "You got a lotta little toes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Montague took his hand with a sociable pound of the chest. "You know, shabookadook, you're kinda high-strung when you're angry."
Giovanni chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another margarita," he complained.