A burble of laughter that sounds like the Pillsbury Doughboy emanates from the large man behind the bar dressed in loudly checkered golf pants. The sound belies the man who shares it with the world, a broad-chested, ponytailed former shrimper who speaks with a baritone perfectly suited for his deadpan delivery. "I hope he's not in trouble," he says of a regular whose freezing cold beer sipping had just been interrupted by a wife who'd arrived to retrieve him from his bar stool. The bemused lilt returned...