City Wafting Through Hempfest
This weekend my dude and I spent a lovely couple hours wandering around Hempfest. We arrived early in the afternoon, with a surge of others, and the slow-moving, sweaty crowds lumbering into and out of the festival’s narrow channels were daunting. But the weather was lovely, and once in the park, so was the view, and thanks to a few generous individuals, we had a very memorable day.
A hippie grandpa had Rice Krispie treats that tasted like garbage and made us feel like we were floating. A guy who looked like a Rastafarian Brad Steinbacher had brownies that were so perfectly delicious—with a precise layer of frosting sprinkled with chopped pecans—I was sure we’d been duped with placebos, though Jake swore he could taste green. We never found out, exactly, as a sweet Edie Brickell-looking lady had hunks of fudge that made trees start talking, and we cabbed to Volunteer Park to stretch out on the grass near the azalea garden, where we watched the clouds do slow-motion judo for a couple hours. Eventually the fudge receded, we drank some beer, then watched Ninotchka.
Thanks, Hempfest!
This me being insanely jealous. There is no way something as wonderful as what you have described could happen in this F-in red state.
Pot bad. Beer good. Don't ask questions.