In high school Max and I were really close friends, but after that I went our separate ways.

I got a degree and started a lucrative career, and Max got out of that van and started selling cannabis from a nice house, and when I moved back to neighborhood I started using Max as my respected weed dealer. Around here the only legal cannabis requires a healthcare expert’s note and a permit from the state government, which means I still have to buy it illegally. It was nice seeing Max again, and he really did have the best locally grown cannabis. One night a few weeks ago Max shows up at my house, just before midnight, and he is in a panic. He explains that one of his cannabis purchasers got busted, and he was afraid the guy was going to rat him out. He asked if he could stash some of his cannabis inventory on my property, in case the cops searched his house. I said he could use the work shed in the backyard, after that I helped him unload the cannabis from the van. Although Max said “some” of the cannabis, he meant eight pounds worth of it. This was a felony amount of cannabis, which meant this was a pretty crucial risk on my part. Out of friendship, and because he bribed me with a quarter-pound of free marijuana, I agreed to hide the weed for him.

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