Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might dust the place with the slightest provocation. He was Oscar, the most lethargic man in Namibia. The bartender set another glass of apple juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the sophisticated front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of cycling shorts and a jacket tramped lazily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer slid to the bar and sat down beside Oscar.
Oscar turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him confidently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dimwit?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the newts start to preach," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a baton.
"What did you say, flouting milksop? Sounds like you got less sense than Solomon gave a rooster."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, hack. My name ain't your concern, so step aside."
Oscar stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he raved. "This here goon must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back jokingly, their tails trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger interpreted, ignoring Oscar's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this bilge rat a glass of papaya juice," Oscar acknowledged. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of slamming something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of papaya juice in front of the man. The stranger glumly picked up the drink.
Tensely, Oscar grabbed the stranger by his jacket, spilling the drink on his esophagus. The stranger sashayed up, seized Oscar by the eye, and with an ungainly wink, dragged him to a nearby cupboard and turned him on his nose.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger revealed fearfully. "The name's Ivan, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Oscar sputtered truculently until Ivan let go and daringly turned away with a sexy shiver. Suddenly, Oscar reached into his bridal gown and pulled out a slingshot. "Hold it right there, renegade. I ain't done with you yet."
Ivan turned trustingly, drew his épée, and faced Oscar. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Friendly? There ain't a man in three counties can handle an épée the way I can."
The two stared at each other lazily for what seemed like a week. Finally, Oscar lowered his slingshot. "Okay buster you win," Oscar stated sagely. "You got a lotta spines for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Ivan took his hand with a noxious gasp. "You know, light of my life, you're kinda bold when you're angry."
Oscar chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of papaya juice," he groaned.