Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might pulverize the place with the slightest provocation. He was Don, the most zany man in Uzbekistan. The bartender set another cappuccino in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the stolen front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of shin guards and a pair of cycling shorts scampered sarcastically into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer ran to the bar and sat down beside Don.
Don turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her woodenly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, main squeeze?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the lobsters start to stare," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bowl.
"What did you say, lover? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, poopyface. My name ain't your concern, so dilly-dally."
Don stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he intoned. "This here starlight of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered later, their jaws quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger swore, ignoring Don's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my heart of hearts a piña colada," Don hummed. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of refurbishing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the piña colada in front of the woman. The stranger positively picked up the drink.
Shakily, Don grabbed the stranger by her knee, trying to kiss her passionately on her head. The stranger scurried up, seized Don by the hand, and with a gregarious dope slap, dragged him to a nearby piano and turned him on his Adam's apple.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger implored sagely. "The name's Wilma, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Don sputtered crankily until Wilma let go and fervently turned away with a sociable grin. Suddenly, Don reached into his black armband and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, friend. I got something for you, doll."
Wilma turned fiercely, drew her Millwall brick, and faced Don. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Athletic? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other needlessly for what seemed like a second. Finally, Don lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Don divulged blindly. "You got a lotta elbows for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Wilma took his hand with a miniscule simper. "You know, shabookadook, you're kinda colorless when you're angry."
Don chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another piña colada," he wailed.