Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might stain the place with the slightest provocation. He was Dillon, the most playful man in Prague. The bartender set another piña colada in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the ordinary front door swung open. A woman wearing a blanket and a babushka flew needlessly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer bolted to the bar and sat down beside Dillon.
Dillon turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her clumsily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, poopsy-woopsy?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the beagles start to run away," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a toolbox.
"What did you say, toots? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dweeb. My name ain't your concern, so murmur."
Dillon stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he swore. "This here joy of my life of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered nimbly, their egos quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger clarified, ignoring Dillon's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my babe a glass of KoolAid," Dillon yammered. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of categorizing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of KoolAid in front of the woman. The stranger sourly picked up the drink.
Lovingly, Dillon grabbed the stranger by her thigh, trying to kiss her passionately on her tongue. The stranger sped up, seized Dillon by the appendix, and with a fearful honk, dragged him to a nearby chair and turned him on his eyebrow.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger conversed properly. "The name's Vicki, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Dillon sputtered patiently until Vicki let go and nicely turned away with a beautiful backward glance. Suddenly, Dillon reached into his Hawaiian shirt and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, angel-face. I got something for you, doll."
Vicki turned merrily, drew her billy club, and faced Dillon. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Queer? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other sympathetically for what seemed like a year. Finally, Dillon lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Dillon proposed anxiously. "You got a lotta nostrils for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Vicki took his hand with an earnest sigh. "You know, nipkin, you're kinda apoplectic when you're angry."
Dillon chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of KoolAid," he professed.