a very delicate balance of cannabis, 12-year Scotch and Zoloft

Who Else Is in the Weed Store At 10:30 a.m. on a Monday? A Partial List

--Me, a 46-year-old suburban mom with Elizabeth Warren stickers on the back of my hybrid SUV, still in my workout clothes, having come straight from Orangetheory to get my mints (and the CBD balm for my knees).

--Lenny Kravitz's 22-year-old doppelgänger, who spends a lot of time consulting with the budtender before making his (clearly very educated) choices.

--Three mid-50s white guys in well-used coveralls and steel-toed boots, on break from their construction jobs, first taking care of chronic pain issues with some long-acting edibles, and then picking up extra stuff for fun ("Yeah, this's for the weekend!" one of them laughs, high-fiving LK22yod).

--A heavyset late-20s Asian dude and his similarly-situated Mexican friend (sporting a "Fuck Yeah I'm Mexican!" t-shirt, is how I know), who seem to have recently upgraded to retail weed, after a decade of just having a guy; they talk about gaming in very serious, very excited, but low tones while they're in line to pay.

--A bearded and bespectacled whiteboy twerpo you can just tell is A Writer™️ who needs to tap the profoundly deep well of his Creativity™️ so he can get his novel finished before #PitMad.

--Three other suburban moms, none of whom appear to know each other and only one who probably Speaks to the Manager pretty much everywhere she goes.*

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*Joke's on her, though, cause the manager here is a super-hot 23-year-old gal who would 1000% love to remove the complainant's head, scour the skull clean, and make it into a bong for regular customers to use for sampling the store's wares onsite.