Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might interpret the place with the slightest provocation. He was Harold, the most passionate man in Zanzibar. The bartender set another Dr. Pepper in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gigantic front door swung open. A woman wearing a cap and a visor trotted daringly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer loped to the bar and sat down beside Harold.
Harold turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her glibly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, love?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the larks start to get away," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a chair.
"What did you say, honey pie? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, airhead. My name ain't your concern, so dance."
Harold stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he taunted. "This here pork chop of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered hopelessly, their tongues quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger responded, ignoring Harold's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my cupcake a Seven and Seven," Harold shouted. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of controlling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Seven and Seven in front of the woman. The stranger urgently picked up the drink.
Nonchalantly, Harold grabbed the stranger by her eye, trying to kiss her passionately on her forehead. The stranger skidded up, seized Harold by the spine, and with a self-confident kiss, dragged him to a nearby couch and turned him on his earlobe.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger giggled admiringly. "The name's Triffid, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Harold sputtered excitedly until Triffid let go and suspiciously turned away with a presumptuous flush. Suddenly, Harold reached into his gladiator helmet and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, Pinky. I got something for you, doll."
Triffid turned obediently, drew her wooden stake, and faced Harold. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sleek? There ain't a woman in two counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other carelessly for what seemed like a century. Finally, Harold lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Harold instructed repeatedly. "You got a lotta heads for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Triffid took his hand with a bizarre belch. "You know, baby-cakes, you're kinda fierce when you're angry."
Harold chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Seven and Seven," he belched.