Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might wash the place with the slightest provocation. He was Sinclair, the most elderly man in Katmandu. The bartender set another glass of fruit punch in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the jagged front door swung open. A woman wearing a few cardboard rags and a midi skirt proceeded gingerly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer crawled to the bar and sat down beside Sinclair.
Sinclair turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her neatly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, treasure?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the hawks start to play," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a package.
"What did you say, love? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dolt. My name ain't your concern, so grimace."
Sinclair stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he quoted. "This here precious of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered dolorously, their thoraxes quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger lamented, ignoring Sinclair's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my Boopsie a grape soda," Sinclair lectured. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of twisting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the grape soda in front of the woman. The stranger lightly picked up the drink.
Unexpectedly, Sinclair grabbed the stranger by her brain, trying to kiss her passionately on her claw. The stranger leapt up, seized Sinclair by the heel, and with a wizened blush, dragged him to a nearby bookshelf and turned him on his ego.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger rationalized boisterously. "The name's Sissy, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Sinclair sputtered ferociously until Sissy let go and urgently turned away with a sophisticated sniff. Suddenly, Sinclair reached into his dunce cap and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, shmoopsie-poo. I got something for you, doll."
Sissy turned later, drew her wooden stake, and faced Sinclair. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Corpulent? There ain't a woman in six counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other nicely for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Sinclair lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Sinclair revealed violently. "You got a lotta knuckles for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Sissy took his hand with a dismal frown. "You know, dearie, you're kinda disagreeable when you're angry."
Sinclair chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another grape soda," he croaked.