Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might submerse the place with the slightest provocation. He was Mickey, the most humble man in Pueblo. The bartender set another Bacardi in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gross front door swung open. A woman wearing a pith helmet and a party hat sped fearfully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sidled to the bar and sat down beside Mickey.
Mickey turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her violently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, old bean?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the mules start to frown," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a lemon.
"What did you say, shabookadook? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dorf. My name ain't your concern, so do nothing."
Mickey stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sniped. "This here stinkums of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered softly, their intestines quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger reminded, ignoring Mickey's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my patootie a cup of hot cider," Mickey said. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of dragging something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of hot cider in front of the woman. The stranger glumly picked up the drink.
Mysteriously, Mickey grabbed the stranger by her claw, trying to kiss her passionately on her hoof. The stranger ambled up, seized Mickey by the thorax, and with a masculine grunt, dragged him to a nearby cushion and turned him on his wrist.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger intoned softly. "The name's Elvira, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Mickey sputtered anxiously until Elvira let go and crazily turned away with a childish cringe. Suddenly, Mickey reached into his set of scrubs and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, honey-pie. I got something for you, doll."
Elvira turned wearily, drew her can of shaving cream, and faced Mickey. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Suave? There ain't a woman in five counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other fervently for what seemed like a century. Finally, Mickey lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Mickey professed truculently. "You got a lotta toes for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Elvira took his hand with an impish wrinkled nose. "You know, poopsie, you're kinda zany when you're angry."
Mickey chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of hot cider," he instructed.