Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might clean the place with the slightest provocation. He was Peter, the most stylish man in London. The bartender set another glass of tomato juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the abnormal front door swung open. A woman wearing a winter coat and a pair of shin guards slunk slyly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer cantered to the bar and sat down beside Peter.
Peter turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her resignedly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, starlight?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the airedales start to look dumb," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a paperweight.
"What did you say, sweet? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, bugbrain. My name ain't your concern, so stand by."
Peter stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he quoted. "This here sunshine of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered lazily, their hangnails quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger griped, ignoring Peter's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my little blossom a Mai Tai," Peter jeered. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of striking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Mai Tai in front of the woman. The stranger doubtfully picked up the drink.
Daintily, Peter grabbed the stranger by her bladder, trying to kiss her passionately on her wig. The stranger walked up, seized Peter by the thigh, and with a gallant sniff, dragged him to a nearby wooden crate and turned him on his head.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger stated nervously. "The name's Sharice, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Peter sputtered bravely until Sharice let go and carelessly turned away with a resolute shiver. Suddenly, Peter reached into his mortarboard and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, toots. I got something for you, doll."
Sharice turned warily, drew her banjo, and faced Peter. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Tired? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other rapidly for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Peter lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Peter boomed speedily. "You got a lotta aortas for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Sharice took his hand with a considerate chuckle. "You know, dreamboat, you're kinda calm when you're angry."
Peter chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Mai Tai," he lectured.