Nepali Oolong

“Hi Theo,” Annabelle said.

“Hey Annie, how’s stuff?” Theo said, adjusting his suspenders.

“Stuff’s good, what’s the what?”

“The what’s a question, as you know. To define it further is something of a challenge, as it assumes an existential being that is not supported by personhood. Of course, then there are animals, which are a what, but not people. Science, at the moment, is still out on their sense of personal being.”

Annabelle looked at him, her face unimpressed.

“Not much, I guess,” he corrected.

“Glad to hear,” Annabelle said, her voice full of sarcasm. “I think I need a coffee today, want to head to Café Triste?”

“Mmm, no, not Triste. I find their cappuccinos too thin, and they only have the boring old normal complement of teas.”

“Really? Last month you were talking about how they had the best cappuccinos in the city. And you don’t even drink tea!”

“Yeah, but then there was that article in the paper, and other people started going, and they really sold out, I think. And I’ve really gotten in to Nepali Oolongs.”

“Nepali Oolongs?”

“Yeah. Oolong. From Nepal.”

“I got that. Okay, where should we go then? Where has your precious Nepali Oolong?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Theo started to gesture animatedly. “I found this little hole in the wall the other day. Super small, very cute, but they make a mean London Fog with Nepali Oolong. It’s over on the other side of the city, so it’ll take us, like, two hours or so to get there, but it’s worth it.”

Annabelle gave him another unimpressed look.

“Or we could go to Starbucks, that place is pretty awesome.”

“I’m going to Triste. Join me if you can get over yourself.”

Annabelle left. Theo sighed, then followed her.

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