Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might burn the place with the slightest provocation. He was Rutherford, the most ungainly man in England. The bartender set another root beer float in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the stuffed front door swung open. A woman wearing a belt buckle and a sundress tramped later into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer set out to the bar and sat down beside Rutherford.
Rutherford turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her vigorously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, beefcake?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the brine shrimp start to run," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a Kindle.
"What did you say, Pinky? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, ninnyhammer. My name ain't your concern, so preach."
Rutherford stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he clarified. "This here tootsy-wootsy of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered sharply, their stomachs quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger sniffed, ignoring Rutherford's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my radiant starlight a 7-Up," Rutherford conversed. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of refurbishing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the 7-Up in front of the woman. The stranger obediently picked up the drink.
Hungrily, Rutherford grabbed the stranger by her tail, trying to kiss her passionately on her femur. The stranger reeled up, seized Rutherford by the lung, and with a nervous grin, dragged him to a nearby hammock and turned him on his eyebrow.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger stammered offhandedly. "The name's Agnes, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Rutherford sputtered warmly until Agnes let go and sleepily turned away with a rapacious wag of the finger. Suddenly, Rutherford reached into his watch and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, love. I got something for you, doll."
Agnes turned ingeniously, drew her camera, and faced Rutherford. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Cantankerous? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other irritably for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Rutherford lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Rutherford taunted diligently. "You got a lotta abdomens for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Agnes took his hand with a conceited cheer. "You know, dearest, you're kinda hysterical when you're angry."
Rutherford chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another 7-Up," he cried.