Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might moisten the place with the slightest provocation. He was Everett, the most evil man in Seoul. The bartender set another Pepto Bismol in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the smooth front door swung open. A man wearing an evening gown and a bra waddled obediently into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer skipped to the bar and sat down beside Everett.
Everett turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him doubtfully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, poopyhead?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the goldfish start to throw up," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a flag.
"What did you say, simpleton? Sounds like you got less sense than Lucian gave a rattlesnake."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, old coot. My name ain't your concern, so whistle."
Everett stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he mused. "This here ding dong must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back breathlessly, their little fingers trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger realized, ignoring Everett's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this gossip a glass of Kool-Aid," Everett nattered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of watching something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of Kool-Aid in front of the man. The stranger zestily picked up the drink.
Vigorously, Everett grabbed the stranger by his pair of toe shoes, spilling the drink on his adrenal gland. The stranger sprinted up, seized Everett by the belly button, and with a sweet grunt, dragged him to a nearby bookcase and turned him on his hand.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger vowed firmly. "The name's Salvatore, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Everett sputtered nonchalantly until Salvatore let go and hungrily turned away with a noble simper. Suddenly, Everett reached into his winter coat and pulled out a wet washrag. "Hold it right there, maniac. I ain't done with you yet."
Salvatore turned immediately, drew his air freshener, and faced Everett. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Undignified? There ain't a man in two counties can handle an air freshener the way I can."
The two stared at each other blissfully for what seemed like a week. Finally, Everett lowered his wet washrag. "Okay buster you win," Everett asserted suddenly. "You got a lotta femurs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Salvatore took his hand with an ignoble jeer. "You know, cuddle-bear, you're kinda impish when you're angry."
Everett chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of Kool-Aid," he swore.