Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might plasticize the place with the slightest provocation. He was Dusty, the most absent-minded man in Egypt. The bartender set another painkiller in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the heavy front door swung open. A woman wearing a babushka and a belt buckle sneaked craftily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer danced to the bar and sat down beside Dusty.
Dusty turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her threateningly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, twinkie?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the gerbils start to buzz," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bag of groceries.
"What did you say, babe? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, flake. My name ain't your concern, so ponder."
Dusty stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he insisted. "This here shabookadook of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered admiringly, their eyelashes quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger insisted, ignoring Dusty's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my tootsie-pie a cup of coffee," Dusty giggled. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of opening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of coffee in front of the woman. The stranger perkily picked up the drink.
Glibly, Dusty grabbed the stranger by her gut, trying to kiss her passionately on her wrist. The stranger padded up, seized Dusty by the nose, and with a sloppy simper, dragged him to a nearby washstand and turned him on his forehead.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger declaimed sourly. "The name's Christabel, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Dusty sputtered pityingly until Christabel let go and smoothly turned away with a blubbery woof. Suddenly, Dusty reached into his bow tie and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, turtle dove. I got something for you, doll."
Christabel turned hastily, drew her sling, and faced Dusty. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Suave? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other lightly for what seemed like a year. Finally, Dusty lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Dusty persisted steadily. "You got a lotta thyroid glands for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Christabel took his hand with a homely grunt. "You know, little cherry blossom, you're kinda obese when you're angry."
Dusty chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of coffee," he screamed.