Benign Little Addiction

The Finlander’s benign little addiction takes some odd turns. He’s crouching behind a mausoleum at the back side of a cemetery, somewhere in southern Indiana, plugging his electric hot pot full of cemetery water into an unguarded power outlet. I’m in front of the mausoleum, making sandwiches on the trunk of the car, pouring his home-roasted coffee beans from a baggie into a small, hand-crank coffee grinder, grinding away. I’m a little nervous about what he’s doing back there. I don’t mind stealing stories from the dead, but their electricity is another thing. Plus, the caretaker’s house is there in full view. I tell him the water is hot enough. I want him to unplug the darn thing before we get caught and carted off to jail. He doesn’t look worried, but he unplugs the hot pot and brings it up to the trunk of the car. I’ve got the ground beans waiting in this Swiss press thing he uses to make the brew. We eat our sandwiches while the coffee steeps, then we pour the coffee into our mugs and slide out of the cemetery, down the road. I wait until the cemetery is a few miles behind us before bring the cup to my lips. I’m forced to admit it was worth it; it was an awesome cup of Jo.