I’ve lived in my building going on four years. I live in a nice apartment in the not-so-nice part of Portland; homeless people yelling at all hours of the night, gangbangers stabbing each other over petty drug debts and the countless drunks roaming around like zombies who have pissed themselves at all hours of the day; but I’ve got off street parking- chill.

There is an energy in my ‘hood that I’m inspired by- this is where the party ends, and as someone who has made a living as a professional partier, I can tell you that good doses of reality are just as important as a lighter and a rolling paper.

I’ve been in this apartment building longer than anyone else that lives here: by at least two years, and have seen my share of both good and bad neighbors, the deciding factor based on if they smoke the dankity-dank.

When I saw the moving truck parked in my car’s space- I knew I had a 50/50 chance of a good batch of new neighbors; after eyeing a crooked hat and a Seedless t-shirt however- I knew we had a winner.

My new neighbors are boyfriend and girlfriend and a couple of stoners too, thank god. I invite Matt over and while rolling a welcome-to-the-hood” joint I notice him giving a gander at my oil-rig. “You dab?” I ask, as I finish rolling the tip into the European style papers. “Never have.” is Matt’s reply. “Well holy fuck- we better fix that right quick.” I begin to search for my torch.

Forget the joint, I dive into a batch of Chernobyl Shatter gifted from Wellness Pharmz’ own Moxie Mike; we had stopped by his immaculately kept grow op a few days earlier for a session and camera shoot.

With my rig set up, I lift a glob of the shatter on my picking tool- it looks like the ancient tree amber that dinosaur DNA was harvested from in Jurassic Park: sit back and watch the water start to ripple.

Matt asks me to go first, as to show him properly how to dab out with your nads out. I take a huge hit- the thick yet silky smoke bombards my lungs like an ATF agent in Waco Texas. I cough a few times and take in a huge gulp of oxygen, finally granted the fresh air my chest was craving. The shatter was tasty and left a lightly fruity coating in the edges of my pie cave. If you could smoke raspberry ginger ale, it’d probably taste a lot like this shatter.

With a sweaty back and sweating hands, I dip my titanium tool back into the shatter again and pull out a globe of a glob, eye’s sparkling at Matt “Go big or go home, right?” He nods in approval “Right.”

I torch the nail, throw the hood over the top of it and hand Matt the wax “Good luck homie.” He successfully hits the nail on the head, takes on a Goliath of a hit and tries to hold it in…

I watch as a man’s virgin lungs get ripped apart like all the scenes in my favorite horror movies. He coughs and coughs, unable to catch his breath, he motions to me for a glass of water while holding his throat. I pour the glass and hand it to him, he takes a deep breath and softly murmurs “Thanks.”

He brings the glass to his lips, drinks deeply and then proceeds to spit water all over my kitchen counters and floor. He looks at me with wide eyes trying to let the words “I’m sorry” escape his battered throat. “It’s that good right?” I laugh and hand him a paper towel “Jesus Christ,” He lets out a sigh and looks at me “Can we smoke some more of that shit? That was awesome!” Moxie at Wellness Pharmz did it right again.

Love, The Strainger

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