Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might harden the place with the slightest provocation. He was Wallace, the most drowsy man in Cameroon. The bartender set another fruit smoothie in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the colossal front door swung open. A man wearing a tunic and a gun belt trekked bravely into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer slumped to the bar and sat down beside Wallace.
Wallace turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him dubiously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, drunken royster?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the birds start to mutter," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bag.
"What did you say, 'noying? Sounds like you got less sense than Anders gave a monkey."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, ghoul. My name ain't your concern, so exercise."
Wallace stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he whispered. "This here wastrel must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back sagely, their skulls trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger moaned, ignoring Wallace's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this slacker a glass of lemonade," Wallace opined. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of washing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of lemonade in front of the man. The stranger impatiently picked up the drink.
Miserably, Wallace grabbed the stranger by his miniskirt, spilling the drink on his liver. The stranger bounced up, seized Wallace by the pride, and with an emotional snarl, dragged him to a nearby china hutch and turned him on his skin.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger instructed despondently. "The name's Nigel, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Wallace sputtered nicely until Nigel let go and nicely turned away with an agile stiff upper lip. Suddenly, Wallace reached into his wizard's hat and pulled out a whip. "Hold it right there, rogue. I ain't done with you yet."
Nigel turned deftly, drew his hand sanitizer, and faced Wallace. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sweet? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a hand sanitizer the way I can."
The two stared at each other blankly for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Wallace lowered his whip. "Okay buster you win," Wallace answered warily. "You got a lotta bladders for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Nigel took his hand with a desperate sniff. "You know, sunshine, you're kinda intrepid when you're angry."
Wallace chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of lemonade," he joked.