He didn't want the sketchy deals of his college years—no dimly lit parking lots or waiting for a "guy" who was perpetually fifteen minutes away. He wanted the San Diego experience: professional, sunny, and above board.
When he walked in, the air-conditioning hit him like a cool wave. The walls were lined with wood accents and backlit glass cases. A concierge greeted him with a smile, checked his ID, and pointed him toward a "budtender" named Sarah.
He pulled up a map of the city’s legal dispensaries, his finger hovering over the clusters of pins.