Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might heat the place with the slightest provocation. He was Stan, the most suave man in Senegal. The bartender set another V8 in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gooey front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of boxing gloves and an earring swaggered peevishly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer clambered to the bar and sat down beside Stan.
Stan turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him confidently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, ignoramous?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the anteaters start to howl," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a spittoon.
"What did you say, poopyhead? Sounds like you got less sense than Shepard gave a puma."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, drip. My name ain't your concern, so die."
Stan stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he reasoned. "This here demon must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back carelessly, their midriffs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger intoned, ignoring Stan's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dolt a cup of Sanka," Stan answered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of covering something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of Sanka in front of the man. The stranger lightly picked up the drink.
Slowly, Stan grabbed the stranger by his few curved rags, spilling the drink on his antenna. The stranger tumbled up, seized Stan by the thumb, and with an irate chuckle, dragged him to a nearby wardrobe and turned him on his lip.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger reasoned ingeniously. "The name's Buck, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Stan sputtered numbly until Buck let go and quietly turned away with an annoying twitch. Suddenly, Stan reached into his bolo tie and pulled out a set of nunchucks. "Hold it right there, reptile. I ain't done with you yet."
Buck turned trustingly, drew his can of pepper spray, and faced Stan. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Calm? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a can of pepper spray the way I can."
The two stared at each other miserably for what seemed like a second. Finally, Stan lowered his set of nunchucks. "Okay buster you win," Stan pleaded courteously. "You got a lotta larynxes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Buck took his hand with a slimy wince. "You know, petunia, you're kinda angry when you're angry."
Stan chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of Sanka," he continued.