My next door neighbor is a salty ancient timer named Declan, who hails from the honorablecountry of Scotland.
That’s where she was born, anyway, and she has lived in the United States for so long she doesn’t even have a Scottish accent anymore, he’s just like any other retired American.
Well… that isn’t accurate, because there is a single thing about Declan that is legitimately identifiable . She grows weed in the redhouse in her backyard, and uses it to make edibles for the local ancient folks home, then declan considers this to be a community service, because the state government refuses to legalize cannabis. I enjoy smoking cannabis recreationally, and have done so for several years. I am not the type of smoker who freaks out when she runs out of marijuana, but I do enjoy keeping it around the house whenever possible. This is much easier because of my friendship with Declan, who consistently has some cannabis she can sell meâ€¦ Most of her time, effort, and marijuana harvest goes into making big batches of edibles. Declan keeps it easy, focusing on the classic pot brownie, which she then cuts up, wraps, and packages to distribute for free at the ancient folk’s home. These senior citizens are often in poor health, and the cannabis edibles help them in so several subtle ways. Declan makes a trip to the ancient folks home once a month to hand out her delicious cannabis edibles. She consistently invites me to go with him but I consistently have to politely decline, because ancient people freak me out.