Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might pat the place with the slightest provocation. He was Robin, the most bellicose man in Nepal. The bartender set another glass of apricot juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the imitation front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of booties and a fez traipsed sorrowfully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer straggled to the bar and sat down beside Robin.
Robin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her sympathetically. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, moonbeam?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the newts start to dream," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a cigarette lighter.
"What did you say, sweetie-pie? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, chowderhead. My name ain't your concern, so daydream."
Robin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he reasoned. "This here queenie of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered zestily, their hands quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger pointed out, ignoring Robin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my buddy a grape soda," Robin smirked. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of reviewing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the grape soda in front of the woman. The stranger needlessly picked up the drink.
Automatically, Robin grabbed the stranger by her leg, trying to kiss her passionately on her kneecap. The stranger lumbered up, seized Robin by the nostril, and with an irate shrug, dragged him to a nearby desk and turned him on his eyeball.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger continued excitedly. "The name's Shirley, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Robin sputtered sheepishly until Shirley let go and flightily turned away with an arrogant air kiss. Suddenly, Robin reached into his wig and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, dearest. I got something for you, doll."
Shirley turned slyly, drew her pair of scissors, and faced Robin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Phlegmatic? There ain't a woman in six counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other calmly for what seemed like a month. Finally, Robin lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Robin moaned later. "You got a lotta intestines for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Shirley took his hand with a brash grunt. "You know, buddy, you're kinda dignified when you're angry."
Robin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another grape soda," he insisted.