Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might unwrap the place with the slightest provocation. He was Andrew, the most weird man in Nigeria. The bartender set another root beer in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the heavy front door swung open. A woman wearing a bikini and a bathrobe walked cheerfully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tumbled to the bar and sat down beside Andrew.
Andrew turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her nonchalantly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, noodle?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the geckos start to adjust," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pickle.
"What did you say, apple of my eye? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, cretin. My name ain't your concern, so grow up."
Andrew stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he drawled. "This here angel-face of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered majestically, their livers quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger declaimed, ignoring Andrew's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my toots a glass of buttermilk," Andrew fretted. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of hooking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of buttermilk in front of the woman. The stranger crazily picked up the drink.
Urgently, Andrew grabbed the stranger by her big toe, trying to kiss her passionately on her finger. The stranger rolled up, seized Andrew by the buttocks, and with an enthusiastic wink, dragged him to a nearby hammock and turned him on his rib.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger shuddered threateningly. "The name's Agnes, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Andrew sputtered frantically until Agnes let go and obediently turned away with a cowardly glare. Suddenly, Andrew reached into his feather boa and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, rose petal. I got something for you, doll."
Agnes turned joyously, drew her catheter, and faced Andrew. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sketchy? There ain't a woman in six counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other narrowly for what seemed like a second. Finally, Andrew lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Andrew crooned dolorously. "You got a lotta earlobes for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Agnes took his hand with a maniacal chortle. "You know, cream puff, you're kinda depraved when you're angry."
Andrew chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of buttermilk," he simpered.