From issue 6 of The Magazine:
On a Saturday in early December, I visit the medical marijuana group knows as the Human Collective…—there’s a reception area, a waiting room, and an inner office where neat rows of small, labeled jars sit in a small glass display case: Hash Train, Orange Velvet, Medicine Woman. There are also lollipops, butter, hard candy, and other edibles.
The collectives’s director, Leslie Miller, is quick to tell me how much she deplores the lack of professionalism at many other marijuana clinics. “You walk in the door, there’s all these pot leaves and hippie images over the wall, things that just scream ‘hippie freakshow party'”…The message is clear: This is medicine—albeit medicine with some pretty stupid names.