On a crisp morning in early October, I went out to buy some kinda-sorta drugs. There are a bunch of newish CBD stores in my neighborhood, each looking like a combination head shop, Bath & Body Works, and medicine wagon. I walked to one near my apartment, screwed up my courage, and went inside.
“I've got all kinds of CBD,” the proprietor loudly announced, unprompted, mere seconds after I entered the store. It was the middle of the day, and I think he was happy to have a customer. “CBD gummies! CBD chocolate!”
“Sounds good,” I said.
“CBD shampoo! CBD lotion!” he continued.
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