Mr. Niceguy walks into a bar on a Sunday night, still dressed in his church clothes, his bible tucked under his armpit. He takes a seat at the counter and orders a glass of water.
The bartender looks him over once and obliges. He reaches for his wallet but the gentleman stops him. “Water’s free” the stout man behind the counter says. “Thank you”, Mr. Niceguy retorts.
High-life music plays, patrons come and go. It surprises Mr. Niceguy how many people randomly roll into the bar, order a shot of gin and casually walk out. “Like cars stopping for fuel”, he mutters under his breath. The barman says nothing.
He holds his glass up, “cheers!” Like something bitter, he sips on the water with a soured face.
“Are you waiting for someone?”
Mr. Niceguy shakes his head, drawing the glass down.
“No. Not really. A feeling”
A new song comes on and he scoots off the stool. Gingerly, he walks into the squared space passing as a dancefloor. The barman lifts his abandoned bible up and calls out to him. Mr. Niceguy waves it off with a smile. He claps and rocks back and forth, feet swinging from side to side.
The persons seated pay him no attention.
Mr. Badguy stutters into the bar, already drunk. He leans against the wall, tables, and people for support. The entire bar comes alive as insults and threats are thrown from end to end. He gnarls at his detractors, hands raised into a fist.
In the middle of the bar, Mr. Niceguy continues his dance with renewed intensity. He throws his hip back and jerks it forward, slumping and raising his shoulders in opposite directions.
Badguy topples a table over and falls to the ground, at the feet of Niceguy; who does not stop dancing. Slowly he tries and fails at extricating himself from the ground. Niceguy’s shuffling feet land on his right hand and he bounces up, piping, “Hey! What did you do that for!?”
The bar falls silent at the expectation of conflict.
“Sorry…. brother”, the dancing man says between air punches and a spin. Mr. Badguy, furious now, swings his hand at him and misses, almost falling to the ground instead. Niceguy catches him before he does. He grabs a hold of his other arm and puppeteers him into a waltz.
The bar erupts in excitement.
Drunken Mr. Badguy grins sheepishly, enjoying the attention. He yanks his hands free and begins his own dance.
Jerk, Jerk, squat, jump, jerk jerk, spin, He loses balance and slams into more tables. Mr. Niceguy throws his head back gleefully and claps.
Everyone rushes to the dancefloor.
Jerk, jerk, squat, jump, jerk, jerk, spin, smash into someone!
Their laughter echoes into the night.
Art Credit: Monica Stewart – Revelations