Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might feel the place with the slightest provocation. He was Bum, the most frantic man in South Africa. The bartender set another Mojito in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the cotton front door swung open. A man wearing a shirt and a pacifier proceeded hastily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer traipsed to the bar and sat down beside Bum.
Bum turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him accidentally. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, monster?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the dingoes start to tremble," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a handkerchief.
"What did you say, fuddy-duddy? Sounds like you got less sense than Rutherford gave a puma."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, oaf. My name ain't your concern, so look smart."
Bum stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he whispered. "This here idjit must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back majestically, their ears trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger cried, ignoring Bum's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this rat a Brandy Alexander," Bum imitated. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of certifying something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Brandy Alexander in front of the man. The stranger bitterly picked up the drink.
Recklessly, Bum grabbed the stranger by his helmet, spilling the drink on his collarbone. The stranger scampered up, seized Bum by the chin, and with a confident crow, dragged him to a nearby billiard table and turned him on his eyebrow.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger disputed needlessly. "The name's Oscar, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Bum sputtered victoriously until Oscar let go and confidently turned away with an energetic laugh. Suddenly, Bum reached into his fez and pulled out a broadsword. "Hold it right there, snowflake. I ain't done with you yet."
Oscar turned fervently, drew his lightsaber, and faced Bum. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Spindly? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a lightsaber the way I can."
The two stared at each other strictly for what seemed like a day. Finally, Bum lowered his broadsword. "Okay buster you win," Bum spoke up solemnly. "You got a lotta throats for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Oscar took his hand with a high-strung beam. "You know, sweet pea, you're kinda apoplectic when you're angry."
Bum chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Brandy Alexander," he scoffed.