Nobody ducked into the dealer’s house, bought and left, Aaron Zeeman remembers. That looked suspicious. So in a lot of circles you sat down. You smoked a joint. You talked for fifteen or twenty minutes and acted like you’d come over to visit. “And then it actually became a visit,” he says. The cover story turned into friendship. The hiding turned into habit, and the habit turned into culture.

For me, this was always the most obnoxious part of smoking weed before legalization.

I’m not the kind of stoner who’s high 24/7. If I want to go pick up an eighth on my way to work, I don’t want to sit down with some paranoid dipshit who wants to smoke me out and talk about all the other times he smoked weed. I don’t want to hang out at his roach-infested apartment for 45 minutes just so I can earn the privilege of going home and smoking a little weed after my shift.

Dale Denton said it best: “We’re NOT friends. You are my drug dealer.”