Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might rock the place with the slightest provocation. He was Michael, the most thoughtful man in Central African Republic. The bartender set another cup of coffee in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the worn front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of Crocs and a loincloth tramped coolly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer jumped to the bar and sat down beside Michael.
Michael turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him needlessly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, terror?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the ducks start to snuffle," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a coat check ticket.
"What did you say, witch? Sounds like you got less sense than Anton gave a cockroach."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, ding dong. My name ain't your concern, so do nothing."
Michael stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he griped. "This here goose must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back sorrowfully, their waists trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger yelped, ignoring Michael's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this hooligan a Bud Lite," Michael scoffed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of grappling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Bud Lite in front of the man. The stranger demurely picked up the drink.
Suavely, Michael grabbed the stranger by his corset, spilling the drink on his femur. The stranger tore up, seized Michael by the belly button, and with a sober sneer, dragged him to a nearby mattress and turned him on his back.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger mumbled breathlessly. "The name's Edwin, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Michael sputtered gleefully until Edwin let go and frantically turned away with a muddled crow. Suddenly, Michael reached into his poncho and pulled out a ukulele. "Hold it right there, old biddy. I ain't done with you yet."
Edwin turned merrily, drew his crossbow, and faced Michael. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sleek? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a crossbow the way I can."
The two stared at each other blindly for what seemed like a day. Finally, Michael lowered his ukulele. "Okay buster you win," Michael fretted ingeniously. "You got a lotta cheeks for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Edwin took his hand with a gargantuan snarl. "You know, doll, you're kinda loving when you're angry."
Michael chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Bud Lite," he opined.