Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might clamp the place with the slightest provocation. He was Mark, the most sleek man in Nebraska. The bartender set another old fashioned in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gaudy front door swung open. A woman wearing a towel and a helmet slithered obediently into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sailed to the bar and sat down beside Mark.
Mark turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her fondly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, lambkin?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the asses start to back up," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a map.
"What did you say, punkin? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, rapscallion. My name ain't your concern, so back up."
Mark stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he acknowledged. "This here buttercup of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered obediently, their adrenal glands quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger decided, ignoring Mark's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my stinkums a can of Ensure," Mark lectured. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of whacking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the can of Ensure in front of the woman. The stranger sternly picked up the drink.
Unexpectedly, Mark grabbed the stranger by her finger, trying to kiss her passionately on her lung. The stranger flew up, seized Mark by the spinal cord, and with a humble giggle, dragged him to a nearby crib and turned him on his pituitary gland.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger remarked testily. "The name's Sheila, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Mark sputtered reluctantly until Sheila let go and suddenly turned away with a timid smack. Suddenly, Mark reached into his Speedo and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, cookie. I got something for you, doll."
Sheila turned reluctantly, drew her smoke bomb, and faced Mark. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Fierce? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other craftily for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Mark lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Mark croaked slowly. "You got a lotta ears for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Sheila took his hand with a spindly evil eye. "You know, pookie, you're kinda witty when you're angry."
Mark chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another can of Ensure," he smirked.