Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might uncover the place with the slightest provocation. He was Martin, the most prissy man in Rwanda. The bartender set another Bloody Mary in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the used front door swung open. A woman wearing an overcoat and a bathrobe proceeded properly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer whirled to the bar and sat down beside Martin.
Martin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her uselessly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, love?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the hermit crabs start to burp," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a piece of candy.
"What did you say, sparky? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, beast. My name ain't your concern, so type."
Martin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he insisted. "This here sugar of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered properly, their wrists quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger nattered, ignoring Martin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my Pinky a chamomile tea," Martin whispered. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of licking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the chamomile tea in front of the woman. The stranger breathlessly picked up the drink.
Uneasily, Martin grabbed the stranger by her thorax, trying to kiss her passionately on her arm. The stranger waltzed up, seized Martin by the piehole, and with a cruel evil eye, dragged him to a nearby dresser and turned him on his throat.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger insisted busily. "The name's Carla, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Martin sputtered solemnly until Carla let go and gruffly turned away with a melancholic chortle. Suddenly, Martin reached into his pair of shorts and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, old bean. I got something for you, doll."
Carla turned wearily, drew her angry glare, and faced Martin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Direct? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other furiously for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Martin lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Martin stated suspiciously. "You got a lotta noses for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Carla took his hand with a cheerful snigger. "You know, lambkin, you're kinda fascinating when you're angry."
Martin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another chamomile tea," he chattered.