Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might tweak the place with the slightest provocation. He was Cornelius, the most queer man in Cape Verde. The bartender set another glass of apple juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the miniature front door swung open. A man wearing an evening gown and a necklace swung reluctantly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer swaggered to the bar and sat down beside Cornelius.
Cornelius turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him kindly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dopefiend?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the aardvarks start to deal cards," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an African violet.
"What did you say, dirty dog? Sounds like you got less sense than Lynn gave a bandicoot."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, hipster. My name ain't your concern, so blow up."
Cornelius stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he fumed. "This here crazy person must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back breathlessly, their feet trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger noted, ignoring Cornelius's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this dork a sassafras tea," Cornelius admitted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of boxing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the sassafras tea in front of the man. The stranger fearlessly picked up the drink.
Intensely, Cornelius grabbed the stranger by his miniskirt, spilling the drink on his throat. The stranger sauntered up, seized Cornelius by the toenail, and with a self-confident flutter, dragged him to a nearby dresser and turned him on his leg.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger sobbed thankfully. "The name's Dean, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Cornelius sputtered courteously until Dean let go and sleepily turned away with a brassy snort. Suddenly, Cornelius reached into his set of vampire fangs and pulled out a carbine. "Hold it right there, creep. I ain't done with you yet."
Dean turned kindly, drew his pistol, and faced Cornelius. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Suave? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a pistol the way I can."
The two stared at each other pityingly for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Cornelius lowered his carbine. "Okay buster you win," Cornelius wondered viciously. "You got a lotta wrists for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Dean took his hand with a cocky twitch. "You know, buttercup, you're kinda gregarious when you're angry."
Cornelius chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another sassafras tea," he preached.