Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might rattle the place with the slightest provocation. He was Samuel, the most angry man in Niger. The bartender set another tequila sunrise in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the well worn front door swung open. A man wearing a hood and a maxi skirt skipped lazily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer strode to the bar and sat down beside Samuel.
Samuel turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him lickety-split. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, knucklehead?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the garter snakes start to back down," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a picture.
"What did you say, snitch? Sounds like you got less sense than Marvin gave a German Shepherd."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, quacker. My name ain't your concern, so step aside."
Samuel stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he fretted. "This here hound dog must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back confidently, their Adam's apples trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger articulated, ignoring Samuel's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this joker a painkiller," Samuel responded. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of nuking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the painkiller in front of the man. The stranger immediately picked up the drink.
Offhandedly, Samuel grabbed the stranger by his garland, spilling the drink on his toupee. The stranger sashayed up, seized Samuel by the jaw, and with a deadly yawn, dragged him to a nearby umbrella stand and turned him on his antenna.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger asked later. "The name's Reynaldo, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Samuel sputtered curiously until Reynaldo let go and crazily turned away with an agitated squint. Suddenly, Samuel reached into his armband and pulled out a slingshot. "Hold it right there, scamp. I ain't done with you yet."
Reynaldo turned nonchalantly, drew his Molotov cocktail, and faced Samuel. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Tactful? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a Molotov cocktail the way I can."
The two stared at each other nonchalantly for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Samuel lowered his slingshot. "Okay buster you win," Samuel alleged calmly. "You got a lotta eyebrows for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Reynaldo took his hand with a poised growl. "You know, sugar plum, you're kinda happy when you're angry."
Samuel chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another painkiller," he argued.