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He parks in the handicap parking space a couple times, before he realizes it's not a regular parking spot. His dog leaps from the monster truck to pee on the grass strip out front. He looks in at the lock smith next door and wonders what the freak he's thinking. What's the guy at the Tomb Stone General Store thinking? The sky blows by clouds and a patch of blue now and then. He ties his dog to the spokes of the front porch railing. He's bigger than life. The sign on the door is plus too to read. The Einstein poster on the wall on the left goes, "E=MC2+2". There's a little coffee left in the machine. Thirst is another thing. His hair is mess. His breath is fresh. The door closes behind him with the sound of a little room air leaving. Thank goodness it's closed. He realizes the coffee, couch, bookshelf books, chalk drawing, recycle basket, and everything as a matter of what it is. He's in a short, ten minute line. It's now exactly 4:10Pm and the 4:20 sale moments away. There's a man in a tie dyed. There's Dylan from down the street. There's the lobby and the display shelf. There's the original Tomb Stone cash registrar from the 30's. He watches the door swing open ten times. How can so many people know about the 4:20 sale that Should he get there early and wait in line or wait to the last ten minutes of the sale. Who Knows, who shows, who blows, who goes. He scratches his scalp with both hands. It's 4:20. He's next in line. "All I want is a $10 rollie!". "Sorry, we dont have any rollies today. Come back tomorrow." He buys an ounce. Why is this so beautiful? His dog, asleep on the porch, leaps off to the grass patch out front to pee. He can't believe it. Most excellent weed store ever.