Medical marijuana has gotten a bad rap in Northern California, and perhaps for good reason. Dispensary logos typically feature a red cross backlit by a neon pot leaf, with maybe the image of a wheelchair and the word “compassion” squeezed in somewhere; meanwhile, a “nudge-nudge, wink-wink” atmosphere pervades many a dispensary waiting area, filled as they are with a high number of male “patients” between the ages of 18 and 40 who are there to be treated for “back pain” and “insomnia,” their prescriptions written by doctors who advertise in the classifieds and on billboards. It’s not surprising that the boundary between recreational and medicinal cannabis can sometimes seem as hazy as the interior of a reggae dance hall.
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