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I always buy my medical marijuana at this clean little store about twenty miles from where I live. It takes me about an hour or so to make the round trip and I make it a couple of times a week. There must be a dozen or more clinics that are closer to me, but I like this place the best. It’s always neat and clean and the people who run the place seem to be for real. But I have gotten the idea recently that they don’t trust me. Maybe it’s because I’m too old. I don’t think I look like a cop. Sometimes I think it must be a bitch to run a medical marijuana clinic. I also like the idea of of making the long drive down there because it makes it a little bit more difficult for me to buy the stuff and, therefore, it helps me keep my purchases to a minimum. But it’s a nice drive. There’s a lot of rolling pasture between here and there. And not many people. Sometimes if I go down there late in the late afternoon I will see a lonely old hawk circling slow in the cool dark wind. I know it’s the same hawk because it’s always in the same place at the same time. Always.
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