Lavazza Beans

His jacket always smells of ash. I don’t mind; I find it comforting. It reminds me of a fireplace, or a bonfire pit. Today he’s smoking American Spirits. When he smokes an American Spirit, he only smokes half. He says they’re so harsh, half is enough. He says they taste minty.

Sometimes, he talks about quitting. He’s been saying he’ll quit since last August. He says he needs to quit, he wants to quit. Once a month he says that this time he’s really going to quit, for real. Once, we made a bet – I said to him, if you don’t smoke a cigarette in three weeks, I’ll buy you a bag of espresso beans. And not just any kind of espresso beans – the organic, fair-trade, local kind; the kind you get at those independent coffee shops with cherry oak tables and hand drip coffee.

For the next three weeks I thought about what type of beans to buy – they needed to be good, smooth, strong, so that every time he took a sip of coffee in the morning, he would remember that he does not need to smoke to survive because once he went three weeks without a cigarette and he survived.

I chose Lavazza because a bag is 80% sweet arabicas and 20% robustas, which I guess are the two best kinds, but I didn’t buy it in the end because he smoked a Newport a week after we made the bet.



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