Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might blame the place with the slightest provocation. He was Harvey, the most solitary man in Namibia. The bartender set another cup of eggnog in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the old front door swung open. A man wearing a tutu and a veil dove sarcastically into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer flew to the bar and sat down beside Harvey.
Harvey turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him slyly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, loon?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the rhinoceroses start to calm down," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a calling card.
"What did you say, mush-for-brains? Sounds like you got less sense than Giovanni gave a oyster."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, drunken royster. My name ain't your concern, so applaud."
Harvey stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he offered. "This here joker must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back fiercely, their pinkies trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger chuckled, ignoring Harvey's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this rat a root beer float," Harvey noted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of piercing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the root beer float in front of the man. The stranger grudgingly picked up the drink.
Nimbly, Harvey grabbed the stranger by his set of scrubs, spilling the drink on his spleen. The stranger stormed up, seized Harvey by the forehead, and with a princely glare, dragged him to a nearby dining table and turned him on his aorta.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger spat fiercely. "The name's Everett, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Harvey sputtered shakily until Everett let go and primly turned away with an apoplectic evil eye. Suddenly, Harvey reached into his pair of cowboy boots and pulled out a howitzer. "Hold it right there, moonie. I ain't done with you yet."
Everett turned menacingly, drew his blow pipe, and faced Harvey. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Enthusiastic? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a blow pipe the way I can."
The two stared at each other uneasily for what seemed like a second. Finally, Harvey lowered his howitzer. "Okay buster you win," Harvey mused tearfully. "You got a lotta calves for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Everett took his hand with a naïve cheer. "You know, cutie-patootie, you're kinda happy when you're angry."
Harvey chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another root beer float," he noted.