No One Knows Eon’s News, Neo [FICTOID]

“There’s a volcano erupting in Tahiti,” Eon the showgirl said, sipping her latte and nibbling on a croissant while reading that morning’s La Presse.

“Why would I care what a volcano in Tahiti does?” Neo the barista said.  A short, sweaty, swarthy man with a personality to match, he preferred customers who bought their breakfast and left to eat it elsewhere, not sit in his shop idling away the morning.

And he especially preferred they didn’t attempt to drag him into their conversations.

“We are all related,” Eon said.  At night she danced in a handful of strategically placed spangles; right now she wore baggy grey sweats and threadbare sneakers.

“We have not tended sheep together,” Neo said.  “I am not related to you.”

“Not literally,” said Eon.  “Figuratively.  I mean, if we traced our bloodlines far enough back I’m sure we’d find a common ancestor, but I’m speaking in a broader, more philosophical / metaphysical sense, of course.”

“What do you know of either philosophy or metaphysics? Neo asked.

“More than you know about making coffee,” Eon murmured under her breath.

© Buzz Dixon