My first time in the shop I made the mistake of asking Charlie for some Esoterica blends. He shook his head, murmured something (likely a compliment of my good taste) and then turned his back returning to his conversation with a few cigar guys. Gobsmacked by his crust, I noticed in the now empty space where is face was a moment before, a hallway to the back room and a bunch of tasty looking goodies. I pushed past him through a tiny galley to grab some stuff and proceeded to stand where the cash register was. He stared at me for a good while, obviously annoyed, and perhaps a little amused wondering just how much he was going overcharge me.
Realizing this was going to take a while, I pulled out a pocket sized #10 and asked for a quarter pound of Tashkent. His expression turned immediately. All of a sudden he came alive and measured out this fine weed as if he were preparing a special order for his most prized customer. The way he handled the leaf made it clear that his reverence of the stuff transcended your typical bag stuffer at your everyday b&m. I don’t know if he had a particular fondness for Tashkent, but I’ll be darned if he didn’t send me off with double my order. I walked out of the shop in a daze.
Anyway, he was a one of a kind, old school dude who went way too soon.
