Our Caesar made it to the vertex in the curb of the sidewalk after some twelve minutes walking. He stood there, stopped by the heat of the sun, and aimed his stride to the door 'cross the street. He smiled the token grin of the madman and took a footstep forward.
Halfway 'cross, the whizzing personage of a Ford motor vehicle made way in front of his body, barely missing his very nose hairs which he protected by nearly turning the wrong way, and dying. It was over in a moment, steps continuing 'cross, giving him the idea to jump the curb once he got there, imagining the heady herbs of the building inside resurrecting his conscience and giving him, and his family, a way out of the addiction lifestyle they shared on his account.
Opening the doors, it was clear the air conditioner had been making huge progress in making the environment completely opposite to what was outside. He thanked the hostess and approached the counter to make his decision. A bodily indica or heady sativa would suit him today if he could find one that fit his wallet at the same time as his mind. The universal edibles would have been chosen had he not wanted to count his calories after eating an entire orange creme cake. The clerk interrupted him.
"Here, take this Blackberry and get out of my store with that nasty BO," he said, suggesting the hybrid indica-sativa strain that was found completely ground in a pre-roll package for $10.
It turns out, I chose a dirty shirt to wear before coming to town for my morning coffee.