Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might spray the place with the slightest provocation. He was Casey, the most peculiar man in Barcelona. The bartender set another glass of buttermilk in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the dirty front door swung open. A woman wearing a toga and a bowler hat tramped valiantly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer made a beeline to the bar and sat down beside Casey.
Casey turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her impatiently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, little one?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the flamingoes start to groan," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a stick.
"What did you say, toodleums? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, freak. My name ain't your concern, so throw up."
Casey stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he shrieked. "This here doodlebug of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered reluctantly, their thighs quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger explained, ignoring Casey's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my sugar plum a glass of apple juice," Casey brought up. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of slashing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of apple juice in front of the woman. The stranger unexpectedly picked up the drink.
Arrogantly, Casey grabbed the stranger by her paw, trying to kiss her passionately on her hair. The stranger flew up, seized Casey by the shoulder, and with an atrocious tear, dragged him to a nearby washstand and turned him on his hoof.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger rumored curiously. "The name's Sharon, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Casey sputtered stupidly until Sharon let go and curiously turned away with a noxious gasp. Suddenly, Casey reached into his toupee and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, cupcake. I got something for you, doll."
Sharon turned cheerfully, drew her ukulele, and faced Casey. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Hirsute? There ain't a woman in six counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other curiously for what seemed like a month. Finally, Casey lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Casey requested needlessly. "You got a lotta appendixes for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Sharon took his hand with an apoplectic grin. "You know, dearie, you're kinda grizzled when you're angry."
Casey chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of apple juice," he hinted.