Hotboxing My Dad: A Weed Trip and the Future Failure of Illinois
I imagine it’s hard to find work when you look like you sleep on a bong-water bed. Maybe not. Maybe this guy could straighten up and look more straightedge and acceptable for any other job. But why bother? In Denver, he could put his vast and exceptional knowledge of cannabis to great use. And he could do it without all the judgement and assholery that comes from a culture which things looking like a pothead is a bad thing. This guy, this stoner behind the counter, was more helpful than any putz at any store you could visit in the Clybourn Corridor.
How do you want to be defined? By one action? By some opinion that could evolve? By a mistake, regrettable only with hindsight? Or by the sum of your parts? Okay, do that for other people. Start the trend.