What I thought was a sushi joint turned out to be a marijuana boutique. It was weird to buy from strangers
Stomach growling in anticipation of a salmon avocado roll, I pushed open the door to a Bend, Oregon, store called Tokyo Starfish with chime-jangling urgency. I was getting hangry, or maybe hanxious, and needed a snack.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Is this — not a sushi restaurant?”
“No,” said the guy, “this is a dispensary.”
“A sushi dispensary?” I asked, still hanxiously hopeful.
“No, a medicine dispensary.”
“I don’t have a card,” I sighed.
“You don’t need one.”
“Oh, it’s — legal in Oregon now?”
“It is,” smiled the snowboarder. “Would you like to look in back?”
“Nah,” I said. “I’m all set.” Supplies were running low by NorCal standards, but money, as always, was tight.