Elias walked out a few minutes later with a small, child-proof bag and a receipt, feeling the weight of his legal purchase. He knew he couldn't consume it in public or take it back across the state line, but for the week ahead in the Rockies, he had exactly what he needed. The rules were clear, the limits were set, and the Colorado sky had never looked bluer.
His first stop in Denver was a glass-fronted building that looked more like a high-end tech boutique than a "pot shop." A friendly clerk with a braided beard checked Elias’s ID and gave him the rundown before he even reached the counter.
"Is it different because I’m from out of state?" Elias asked, remembering old rumors.
"Used to be," the clerk replied, "but not anymore. Residents and visitors have the same limit now. Two ounces total, in any combination of those equivalents."
Elias looked at the rows of glass jars, the names—Northern Lights, Blue Dream, Sour Diesel—sounding like poetry. He learned that the two-ounce limit wasn’t just for the buds. If he wanted edibles, the limit was 800 milligrams of THC. If he preferred the potent concentrates and waxes, he could take home eight grams.
The mountain air felt different to Elias the moment he crossed the border from Kansas. It wasn’t just the altitude; it was the newfound liberty of the emerald green sign welcoming him to Colorado. He’d spent the eight-hour drive rehearsing the numbers in his head like a mantra.
"Since you're twenty-one, you're golden," the clerk said. "The law is simple: you can walk out of here with up to two ounces of flower."