Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might poke the place with the slightest provocation. He was Oscar, the most quiet man in Afghanistan. The bartender set another can of Ensure in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the mechanical front door swung open. A woman wearing a bicycle helmet and a bathrobe scurried later into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer bounced to the bar and sat down beside Oscar.
Oscar turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her pitifully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, darling?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the ladybugs start to buzz," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a dollar bill.
"What did you say, honey? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dullard. My name ain't your concern, so relax."
Oscar stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he boasted. "This here sweet of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered viciously, their chests quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger reacted, ignoring Oscar's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my dreamboat a cup of bouillon," Oscar gasped. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of scoring something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of bouillon in front of the woman. The stranger sarcastically picked up the drink.
Ferociously, Oscar grabbed the stranger by her thorax, trying to kiss her passionately on her head. The stranger made a beeline up, seized Oscar by the palm, and with a dumb grin, dragged him to a nearby billiard table and turned him on his eyeball.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger urged dubiously. "The name's Libby, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Oscar sputtered joyously until Libby let go and ferociously turned away with a wily cringe. Suddenly, Oscar reached into his polo shirt and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, twinkie. I got something for you, doll."
Libby turned boldly, drew her pistol, and faced Oscar. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Brassy? There ain't a woman in six counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other blindly for what seemed like a second. Finally, Oscar lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Oscar reminded slowly. "You got a lotta egos for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Libby took his hand with a presumptuous face palm. "You know, pookie, you're kinda tall when you're angry."
Oscar chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of bouillon," he scoffed.