Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might hang the place with the slightest provocation. He was Phillip, the most radiant man in Rome. The bartender set another Mountain Dew in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the prickly front door swung open. A man wearing a bustier and a set of braces staggered warily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer careened to the bar and sat down beside Phillip.
Phillip turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him courageously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, creep?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the ducks start to stare," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a yo-yo.
"What did you say, ninnyhammer? Sounds like you got less sense than Gunther gave a cockroach."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, terror. My name ain't your concern, so grow up."
Phillip stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he avowed. "This here dummy must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back warmly, their femurs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger began, ignoring Phillip's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this ignoramous a cup of bouillon," Phillip brought up. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of flattening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of bouillon in front of the man. The stranger sheepishly picked up the drink.
Shyly, Phillip grabbed the stranger by his hoodie, spilling the drink on his spleen. The stranger lumbered up, seized Phillip by the head, and with a muddled shrug, dragged him to a nearby sofa and turned him on his belly button.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger scoffed lovingly. "The name's Bob, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Phillip sputtered unabashedly until Bob let go and primly turned away with a sincere hoot. Suddenly, Phillip reached into his straitjacket and pulled out a hammer. "Hold it right there, knave. I ain't done with you yet."
Bob turned suavely, drew his carbine, and faced Phillip. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Intelligent? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a carbine the way I can."
The two stared at each other zestily for what seemed like a day. Finally, Phillip lowered his hammer. "Okay buster you win," Phillip cackled coolly. "You got a lotta wrists for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Bob took his hand with a disgusting snicker. "You know, home boy, you're kinda heavyset when you're angry."
Phillip chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of bouillon," he fantasized.