This past Christmas, I unwittingly lit a joint in the first place I had ever smoked weed. A distinct memory didn’t strike me when I lit up. Instead, I was hit by a sense of déjà vu. As I crouched by the back door in my dad’s garage, I was as scared about the garage door opening and my father catching me as I was when I was 14 years old. As an avid Weediquette reader, my dad probably wouldn’t give me too much shit about it now, but at age 14, I would have faced some pretty serious wrath—that’s why I had to find refuge in nature… read more >
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