Anonymole – apocryphal agitators

“Yeah, we take bitcoin, but only for sales over a grand.”

“That’s not what bitcoin is about,” the customer explained. “‘Sposed to be about fractionalization, you know? Micro payments.”

“Sure, I get it. But just how do we convert bitcoin to real money? Tell me that. Right now, we have to wash it all through a bank, el banco, in El Salvador.” Jimmy paused and rubbed his fingers together. “And it ain’t cheap.”

The fellow, an ex-military type, with a pronounced right leg limp, stashed his phone. “Well, I don’t need a thousand dollars of herb.”

“It doesn’t go bad. Just keep it cool, dark and dry.”

The ex-mil smirked. “Tell that to my roommates. Sons-a-bitches won’t abide by any kind of privacy.”

Jimmy had sold to this fellow before. Although not a regular, they guy had always been polite and never quibbled on price. Ex-mil looked around the Four-Twenty, taking in the various paraphernalia the shop offered. Jimmy noticed a ragged scar running down the guy’s neck, behind his ear, disappearing into his dark-olive T-shirt, one with M-16 magazines stenciled on the sleeves.

“I live in a big three-story house in town. We’ve got an opening for a roomie, if you’re interested.”

“Yeah?” Ex-mil lifted the glass lid of #17 “Klamath Kush”, inhaled the heady odor that wafted out. “How much?”

“Eight hundred.”

“Oof, a bit steep.”

“It might come with a job.”

“What, cook, errand boy and gardener?”

“Hell no. Security. Here at the Four-Twenty.”

Ex-mil straightened. “Hmm, go on.”

“You prolly know, the Feds won’t let dispensaries have real bank accounts, not for the business cash flow.” Jimmy pointed to a reinforced door. “We gotta keep it all in cash. We’ve got a crack-proof safe in there.” 

“Right. So, except for bitcoin sales more than a grand, you only take cash.”

“Hardly anyone pays in bitcoin.”

“So, you got like a couple-ten grand in there now?”

Jimmy’s eyes lifted to the fluorescent lights that hummed overhead.

“More?”

“That’s why we need security. Well, more security.”

“Okay if I think about it, maybe come back in a bit?”

“Up to you. We’re not actively looking for another roommate, so…”

“Cool. I’ll just take a lid of #17, for now then.”

Jimmy rang it up and Ex-mil doled out a wad of cash. He weighed out an ounce of forest-green buds, bagged it, handed it over and looked at the clock on the wall. “Look at that. Must be a sign. It’s 4:20.”

Ex-mil turned from staring at the door with the safe. “Must be.” The fellow put up his hand, palm forward. “Thanks.” 

Jimmy slapped it. “High five.”

“High indeed.”