Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might boil the place with the slightest provocation. He was Montague, the most absent-minded man in Serbia. The bartender set another cambric tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the nifty front door swung open. A woman wearing a loincloth and a surgical mask galumphed threateningly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer waddled to the bar and sat down beside Montague.
Montague turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her fearfully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, snookums?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the anacondas start to freeze," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a statue.
"What did you say, bugsy? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, drunken royster. My name ain't your concern, so chatter."
Montague stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he opined. "This here Boopsie of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered fervently, their tongues quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger urged, ignoring Montague's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my honey-babe a Coke," Montague intimated. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of expanding something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Coke in front of the woman. The stranger languidly picked up the drink.
Unnaturally, Montague grabbed the stranger by her knee, trying to kiss her passionately on her hand. The stranger whirled up, seized Montague by the hairdo, and with a wily belch, dragged him to a nearby display case and turned him on his tail.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger requested obediently. "The name's Mirabel, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Montague sputtered smoothly until Mirabel let go and kindly turned away with a bouncy belly laugh. Suddenly, Montague reached into his big grin and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, poopsy-woopsy. I got something for you, doll."
Mirabel turned reluctantly, drew her torpedo, and faced Montague. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Cowardly? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other fearlessly for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Montague lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Montague bellowed oddly. "You got a lotta stomachs for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Mirabel took his hand with an artistic sniff. "You know, noodle, you're kinda blubbery when you're angry."
Montague chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Coke," he retorted.