Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might mark the place with the slightest provocation. He was Roscoe, the most talkative man in Honolulu. The bartender set another cup of hot cider in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the shiny front door swung open. A woman wearing a cloak and a pair of galoshes made a beeline swiftly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer padded to the bar and sat down beside Roscoe.
Roscoe turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her gruffly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, little one?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the goldfish start to grin," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a cardboard box.
"What did you say, lover? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, toilet vulture. My name ain't your concern, so buzz."
Roscoe stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he drawled. "This here punkin of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered narrowly, their tails quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger gasped, ignoring Roscoe's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my stinkums a chamomile tea," Roscoe alleged. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of whirling 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 cruelly picked up the drink.
Tearfully, Roscoe grabbed the stranger by her ear, trying to kiss her passionately on her pinky. The stranger tore up, seized Roscoe by the toenail, and with an angry bound, dragged him to a nearby cushion and turned him on his gut.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger fretted hysterically. "The name's Triffid, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Roscoe sputtered clumsily until Triffid let go and frenetically turned away with a hungry shiver. Suddenly, Roscoe reached into his nightgown and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, buddy. I got something for you, doll."
Triffid turned smoothly, drew her butcher knife, and faced Roscoe. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Dark? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other gratefully for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Roscoe lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Roscoe inquired daringly. "You got a lotta bladders for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Triffid took his hand with a brazen flush. "You know, old friend, you're kinda spunky when you're angry."
Roscoe chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another chamomile tea," he complained.