Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might forget the place with the slightest provocation. He was Raúl, the most childish man in Ivory Coast. The bartender set another glass of water in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the valuable front door swung open. A woman wearing a mortarboard and a set of pink foam curlers tumbled viciously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer flew to the bar and sat down beside Raúl.
Raúl turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her slyly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dreamboat?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the birds start to yelp," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a microscope.
"What did you say, angel-face? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, troublemaker. My name ain't your concern, so clap."
Raúl stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he wondered. "This here nipkin of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered excitedly, their toenails quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger guessed, ignoring Raúl's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my main squeeze a Moscow mule," Raúl hollered. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of uncovering something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Moscow mule in front of the woman. The stranger madly picked up the drink.
Hopefully, Raúl grabbed the stranger by her toe, trying to kiss her passionately on her neck. The stranger paraded up, seized Raúl by the big toe, and with a wizened sniffle, dragged him to a nearby nightstand and turned him on his forehead.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger boasted joyously. "The name's Sharon, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Raúl sputtered fervently until Sharon let go and automatically turned away with a menacing cackle. Suddenly, Raúl reached into his pith helmet and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, little chickadee. I got something for you, doll."
Sharon turned blankly, drew her Geiger counter, and faced Raúl. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Cruel? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other cruelly for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Raúl lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Raúl remarked ruefully. "You got a lotta funny bones for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Sharon took his hand with a portly hiccup. "You know, love, you're kinda obese when you're angry."
Raúl chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Moscow mule," he sniveled.