Johnny walked into his favorite bar looking like a man who had just seen his own funeral invitation.

His face was pale, his hands were trembling, and he kept checking over his shoulder every few seconds.

His friend noticed immediately.

“What happened to you?” he asked. “You look like you owe money to someone with a very short temper.”

Johnny sat down, ordered a double whisky and drank half of it before answering.

“I’m scared,” Johnny said to one of his friends, “I got a letter from a guy who said he’d break my legs if I didn’t stop seeing his wife.”

His friend nearly dropped his drink.

“That sounds serious! Was the letter handwritten?”

“Yes.”

“Any spelling mistakes?”

“Several.”

“Then he’s probably very angry,” his friend said wisely.

Johnny nodded and pulled the crumpled letter from his pocket. He had already read it at least fifty times, hoping that one of the words would suddenly become less threatening.

“Well,” replied his friend, “I guess you’ll have to stop seeing his wife.”

Johnny stared miserably into his glass.

“Easy for you to say,”

His friend leaned closer, suddenly fascinated by the drama.

“You like her that much?” the friend asked.

Johnny sighed deeply.

Around them, several people had begun listening. Even the bartender stopped polishing a glass. Everyone expected a tragic confession about forbidden love, secret meetings and uncontrollable passion.

Johnny lowered his voice.

“It’s not that,” declared Johnny, “He didn’t sign his name.”