Back in the day, when we were lighting up behind the park bench or in someone’s basement, that was real. That was culture. The joint passed like sacred knowledge. Any second the cops could roll up, and that thrill? That was the magic. The ban united us. We were a tribe, a secret society – not patients with prescriptions. Now? You pick up weed in a pharmacy, packaged like bubblegum vitamins. Where’s the danger in that? Legal weed is like vegan bacon – looks familiar, tastes like nothing. The moment your mom’s hitting a vape pen at brunch, it’s game over, man. No more edge, no more underdog energy. Just another boring habit. “Yo dude, let’s spark up” hits different when it feels like asking for a cup of coffee. Weak sauce.