Nothing ages you more than thinking fondly on the times when buying weed was seedy.

By seedy, I mean that I would knock four times on the door of my dealer’s Tallahassee apartment. I’d have two twenty-dollar bills clutched in my hand, palms sweaty from the illegal thrill of it all. I’d have to do a gravity bong hit with a guy who went by the moniker H, who had a bulldog and an apartment that smelled like Chex Mix and dip spit.

I was buying dime bags from H only six years ago, so all of this to say, even in my short time on this earth, the way we experience, purchase, and interact with weed, or, given it’s commercialized rebrand, cannabis, has completely changed.