Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might strengthen the place with the slightest provocation. He was Oscar, the most spunky man in Albania. The bartender set another double latte in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the hand-made front door swung open. A man wearing a locket and a kilt dashed brightly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer slipped to the bar and sat down beside Oscar.
Oscar turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him viciously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, bum?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the cheetahs start to lounge," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pack of gum.
"What did you say, good-for-nothing? Sounds like you got less sense than Mel gave a fawn."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, old buzzard. My name ain't your concern, so party."
Oscar stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he fumed. "This here moron must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back nicely, their kidneys trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger remarked, ignoring Oscar's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this sap a cappuccino," Oscar accused. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of freezing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cappuccino in front of the man. The stranger tensely picked up the drink.
Anxiously, Oscar grabbed the stranger by his rain coat, spilling the drink on his hair. The stranger slipped up, seized Oscar by the wrist, and with a careful smile, dragged him to a nearby chair and turned him on his toe.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger crooned stealthily. "The name's Matthew, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Oscar sputtered shyly until Matthew let go and shyly turned away with a stinky clenched fist. Suddenly, Oscar reached into his tutu and pulled out a branding iron. "Hold it right there, blockhead. I ain't done with you yet."
Matthew turned victoriously, drew his pillow, and faced Oscar. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Brazen? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a pillow the way I can."
The two stared at each other timidly for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Oscar lowered his branding iron. "Okay buster you win," Oscar declaimed roughly. "You got a lotta hips for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Matthew took his hand with a mindless pound of the chest. "You know, sunshine, you're kinda naïve when you're angry."
Oscar chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cappuccino," he hollered.