Marijuana dispensaries line the streets of Colorado cities like liquor stores and pawn shops in bad neighborhoods in every city. They are well lit, welcoming and staffed by friendly, knowledgeable staff eager to help.

Variety is key to these businesses. Dozens of different strains of marijuana, all with interesting names — Gorilla Glue, Girl Scout Cookies and other cheeky takes on brand names that are likely to elicit a lawsuit.

Of course, there are the concentrates for people who find high-grade hydroponic marijuana to lack in potency. Those people would have found crack fun in 1985. (Please address angry, 12,000-word emails on why crack isn’t the same thing as marijuana to any of my editors).

They really offer something for anyone. But like anything, people will eventually find a reason to declare them out of date and no longer fashionable. That’s an easy enough fix — The Throwback Dispensary. A trip back into the good old days, the 1990s, when marijuana could get you six months of probation or at the very least yelled at by cops who had better things to do than roust your dumb ass at the park.

You can’t just walk into TTD. You have to call first and speak in odd codes. Example: “Hey there, did you still have any of those Al Green records from last week? Yes? Great. I will take the double album please.”

Once you make it to TTD, you will not find any employees standing behind counters. It’s just one guy, sitting on a couch in his bathrobe in front of a cluttered coffee table. He goes by “The Dude,” as he’s a huge fan of “The Big Lebowski.”

Maybe one of his weird friends will be there to argue with you about which of the first round of Wu-Tang Clan solo albums was the best. His girlfriend who moved in two months ago might emerge from the bedroom and shoot lasers from her eyes to let you know you are talking too loud.

Once you buy your marijuana, you have to stay and smoke some of it with The Dude and Mr. Wu-Tang Clan who has been shooting you dirty looks for saying that you prefer The GZA’s “Liquid Swords” over Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s “Return to the 36 Chambers.”

When you stand up to leave, he will implore you to sit back down at least three times. You comply because your only other connect is a guy named Thumper who you have to meet in a gas station parking lot. Thumper only sells what you derisively call “car bomb bud” because it came from Mexico and likely involved at least one exploding vehicle. An ounce is actually three quarters, and once you get all the stems, seeds and rocks out of it, it’s more like a half.

So you put up with The Dude. And your girlfriend is not allowed to go there alone. He’s kind of creepy.

The Throwback Dispensary. Coming to a gentrified neighborhood near you.

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