31) The Willy Wonka of Pot

The Willy Wonka of Cannabis

A Trip to Hempfest with Cannabis Pioneer DJ Short

By Jason Fagone, November 13, 2013

To get to Hempfest this year, you left downtown Seattle on a wet and cloudless Saturday. You walked towards the waterfront, where every street corner was occupied by street musicians, and pedestrian traffic intensified, allowing you to smell the sweat and cannabis smoke on your clothes and skin. The police were everywhere, directing traffic. Men and women, their backs turned to the officers, were guarding portable coolers and quietly selling brownies. Further along, a man shouted through a poor-quality amplifier. Something religious. From hellish fury.

You were getting closer. You began to pass by small camps set up along the roadside, scrawny kids with facial piercings, red and sticky eyes, and baggy sand-colored clothes hanging from their limbs like senatorial jowls. One of them held a tattered piece of cardboard with a note saying, “I HAVE A HOLE IN MY BOWL AND I NEED A BIT OF HERB TO PATCH IT.” The noise from the amplifier grew louder and more distorted. As you approached, you saw him, the evangelist, planted in the middle of the sidewalk with a microphone. A man with a six-foot wooden cross handed you a pamphlet. Someone had spray-painted “READ THE BIBLE” on a large rock. Another had crossed out “BIBLE” and written “BOOKS.”

But then the police blew a whistle and guided you across a railway track, and you arrived at the gate of the public park where Hempfest was taking place. It was like swimming through mud at the edge of a lake to reach clear waters beyond. It’s still illegal to grow or sell cannabis under federal law, but citizens of Washington State (and Colorado) voted last year to allow the sale of marijuana for recreational use, making this Hempfest the first in the event’s 22-year history to bask in the pale sunlight of near-legalization. In the park, in grassy areas between tents selling sausages, hemp burgers, and bongs, people lit up their pipes with the impunity of UN diplomats. The smell of weed fell like a Broadway curtain. Police with perplexed smiles cruised around in golf carts, handing out free bags of Doritos as well as stickers advising festival-goers that, yes, smoking in public is an offense, but no, the police were not there to issue citations and preferred to “give you a warning.” Everyone seemed to understand that the world was different now, even if no one was quite sure where the new boundaries were, or how long it would be before they shifted again.

“ Meanwhile, inside a large white tent, an influential and semi-anonymous figure prepared to speak about his work.”

He appeared to be in his fifties. Dressed in a simple black shirt, jeans, sandals, and dark sunglasses, he had light gray hair peeking out from under his fedora. He was seated on a platform on an improvised stage alongside three other men, gathered for a panel discussion titled “Grow Your Own Medicine: Tips from the Pros.” A hand-written card in front of his microphone read DJ SHORT. He surveyed the 120 people sitting on folding chairs, nodding in acknowledgment. As the discussion began, DJ Short shared his extensive knowledge about breeding and cultivating cannabis. He spoke passionately about the importance of growing your own medicine and the personal connection it creates between the grower and the plant. His insights ranged from the genetics of various strains to practical tips on soil health, lighting, and pest management. The audience listened intently, soaking in every word, eager to learn from a pioneer in the field

There are no photos of him online. No videos either. Unlike several famous growers, DJ Short, undoubtedly the most skilled and creative cannabis breeder in America over the past 40 years, has never surrounded himself with a Vice magazine filming crew. However, he occasionally teaches at the Medical Cannabis Caregivers Institute in Pasadena and sometimes participates in cannabis gatherings and festivals, but you really have to know what you’re looking for to catch a glimpse of DJ Short. He does not have a website.

His online presence is limited to a few long comments on the cannabis cultivation site International Cannagraphic, where he occasionally shares anecdotes about his decades in the business and interacts with fans who have consumed his varieties: Blueberry, a ubiquitous strain with a lavender hue that genuinely smells like fresh blueberries; Flo; Blue Velvet; Cocoa Kush; Azure Haze; Whitaker Blues; Vanilluna. These are specialized plants, the equivalent of high-end wines in the cannabis world, cultivated not for their yield or high THC content, but for their rich aromas and interesting effects. The entry for Blueberry on Urban Dictionary reads: "The most wonderful form of marijuana to date… Although it's not the most potent, it will knock you to the ground." According to High Times, which honored Short by inducting him into its Seed Bank Hall of Fame, Blueberry and the other varieties represent an "arsenal of exceptional ganja genetics."

Some brave commentators online do not hesitate to ask Short for cultivation advice, but most seem to maintain a respectful and reverential distance. “I think many of us can agree that DJ Short is quite emblematic,” wrote a commentator on thcfarmer.com in 2012. “But who is this guy? Where does he live, and what motivates him? … Has he ever been interviewed? Is he still alive?” Another wrote in 2010, “As for who he is, I’ve searched everywhere… I don’t dare to ask because I know better. From my research, he is to cannabis what Willy Wonka is to candy. Like Willy Wonka, he hides in his factory.”

Short published a book in 2003,Cultivating Exceptional Cannabis: An Expert Breeder Shares His Secrets. It's now out of print. I found a used copy on Amazon for $40 and read it before heading to Hempfest. Thin and irritatingly well-written,Cultivating Exceptional Cannabis seemed to confirm the Willy Wonka analogy, giving the impression of a man pursuing the marvelous—part scientist, part researcher. The book includes meticulous descriptions of lights, soils, fertilizers, and cloning techniques, as well as the differences between male and female plants (females produce the buds), as well as quick definitions of genotype (the genetic makeup of a plant) and phenotype (the expression of those genes)—genetics for cannabis enthusiasts. At the same time, Short offers advice on how to enhance the effect of cannabis by mixing it with psychedelic drugs, and he cautions that "many of the more subtle and subjective aspects of the fine cannabis experience lie outside the bounds of current conventional (and authorized) science… A recommended book on this subject isThe Structure of Scientific Revolutions from Thomas Kuhn. »

He also seemed genuinely interested in the taste and smell of cannabis. Hydrocarbons called terpenes can give cannabis aromas reminiscent of celery, roses, licorice, lemons, or even a dead mouse. A two-page color insert titled "DJ Short's Flavor & Olfaction Chart" categorized cannabis aromas into such categories as
« chemical astringent »
« sugar »
« spicy »
« putrid »
« musky ».

There were also four subcategories, including
« earthy », which Short had subdivided into "loam-moist", "earth-mixed", "mouldy-stale" and "dusty-dry".

He wrote: "The range of flavors and aromas expressed by cannabis strains can be extraordinary... Any creative grower, whether amateur or professional, can use his or her palate to conduct groundbreaking and innovative research."

For all its botanical precision, the book was evasive about the specific details of the author’s life: where he came from, where he lived, his plans for the future. “Discretion is, after all, the better part of valor,” Short wrote. “Rule number one: Never tell (show) anyone.” I kept visualizing the character in Sideways refusing to drink Merlot, then trying to imagine him at the end of Prohibition, pruning vines in his hidden vineyard and wondering when it would be safe to let the world know what he had accomplished.

« DJ Short is here!” said a large man in a tie-dye tank top. He was sitting next to Short on the dais at Hempfest. His name card read STINKBUD. “I used to grow his Blueberry in the ’80s,” Stinkbud said. “One of the most famous guys in the world! DJ Short! That guy is a legend.”

The panel moderator, a Canadian researcher, said: "I've been moderating this panel for seven or eight years. I've never seen Stinkbud so humble."

The crowd laughed, and Short leaned into his microphone: “Well, thank you, Hempfest. Thank you, Washington.” His voice was a shocker: deep, clear, and commanding. A voice that could sway a boardroom or shine at a TED talk. “I’ve been in this business for about 40 years. I predicted a long time ago, decades ago: Legalization would happen if I stayed alive long enough, and when it did, it would happen in unpredictable ways.” He addressed rumors that several states were considering following Colorado and Washington’s lead in 2014 with their own legalization plans: “Nobody knows what’s going to happen in January or February, and that’s pretty good. Let’s solve that.”

The moderator kicked off the discussion with a question to the panel about the chemistry of cannabis. Everyone knows about THC, the compound that causes euphoria, but the plant contains up to 80 unique compounds, or “cannabinoids,” including one that has shown powerful medicinal effects but doesn’t produce a high at all: cannabidiol, or CBD.

American scientists can't work with cannabis because the government punishes anyone who tries, but researchers in Israel have been able to create high-CBD strains and investigate their qualities. Are high-CBD strains the future?

"It's really amazing how versatile the plant is," said Jorge Cervantes, a long-haired white-haired rancher on the panel. Thirty years ago, "we couldn't get rid of this weed fast enough. It was a useless weed. We were ignorant.

Short chimed in. He explained that he had recently made a CBD-rich tincture to give to his ailing mother, who had suffered a stroke the year before and was now in hospice. She took the tincture with her orange juice. “It’s the only thing that stops the whining and the moaning.” He added that he was beginning to explore the world of CBD-rich strains and that more research was needed. He could imagine an experiment that involved taking 10 clones of a mother plant and growing them in 10 different environments. “Let’s test them,” he said. “What will the differences be?”

A few minutes later, the moderator turned to the audience and invited questions. A tall guy, taking notes on a yellow legal pad, stood up and asked how many hours a day a plant should be exposed to light and how many hours in the dark. Twelve hours and twelve hours? “Hear me now, thank me later,” Short said, slowing his voice: “For the flowering cycle: 11 hours on, 13 hours off. Okay? The first thing that’s going to happen is you’re going to see phenotypic expressions that you’ll never see with 12/12.” The tall guy scribbled on his legal pad.

There were other questions: about the advantages of outdoor cultivation versus indoor, about disease control, about how to clone a plant without compromising its quality, and about companion crops to plant alongside cannabis (Short: "Basil, tomatoes—I have a lot of luck with onions"). After the last question, the moderator concluded, "I hope you will join me in applauding these incredible cannabis growers and experts." The crowd applauded. Short stood up, bowed, and took off his hat. He stepped down from the stage, carrying a small canvas bag over his shoulder, and for the first time, I could see how tall he was—6'3". A man stopped him and asked for an autograph. He signed the man's Hempfest program and exited the tent. Short had not walked 10 meters before several other men gathered around him, asking him technical questions and nodding gravely. I heard him say, "I never became rich." He laughed. "A lot of other people have become rich because of my varieties." He knelt down, opened his bag, and pulled out a stack of seed packets, each slightly larger than a business card, held together by a rubber band. One of the men handed him some money, and he gave the man a packet..

A middle-aged woman with fine gray hair was waiting to speak to Short. I asked her if she was a fan of DJ Short. She replied that she was—she grew his plants to manage the pain from multiple open-heart surgeries. If she didn’t smoke, she had to take huge amounts of Vicodin, which terrified her. She pointed to the scar on her chest and began to cry. "I'm sorry," she said, wiping her tears.

Another woman, a blonde with a gothic style, was trying to take a photo. "When the master is ready," she said to me. After a moment, she caught Short's attention and signaled to a friend holding a camera. "It's just for a private album," she said—she wouldn't post it publicly. Short agreed without hesitation. She approached him, and they posed together making the "hang loose" sign in front of the camera.

A common misconception is that the "DJ" in DJ Short stands for "disc jockey." This is not the case. D and J are initials. His real first and middle names are Daniel and John; Short is a pseudonym. He lives in Oregon, is divorced, and has three adult sons. He didn’t seem bothered to share all this with me when we sat in the shade of a large tree after the panel.

I had spoken to Short several days earlier and arranged our meeting at Hempfest. Finding a way to reach him had been a challenge. After listening to a brief interview he gave on a High Times podcast called Free Weed, I had emailed the podcast host, Danny Danko, asking if he could put me in touch with Short. I never received a response from Danko, but a week later, an email arrived from Short—subject line "Howdy from DJ Short." He gave me a phone number with an Oregon area code. I called and explained that I wanted to write about his life and work. He seemed a bit wary, saying, "There are people who, for one reason or another, want to talk, mainly for ego, and I don’t want to steal their thunder," but he also sounded flattered at the same time. "I’m still working on notes, memoirs, and other things," he said. "Hindsight is always clearer, of course."

Now, sitting in the grass, I asked him where he learned about genetics. He pulled out an old tobacco pipe from his bag, lit it, and took a heroic puff. He explained that in the 1980s, he studied biology for a time at the University of Oregon, as well as cognitive psychology, but he never worked in those fields: "I've always been a lone wolf."

He grew up, he said, in a lower-middle-class family in Inkster, Michigan, the hometown of the woman who inspired the iconic "Rosie the Riveter" poster. Inkster was close enough to Detroit that, as a child, he could hear gunfire during the race riots of 1967; he could see the skyline on fire at night. His father was a Polish-American World War II veteran who worked in a factory related to the Big Three of the automotive industry. His mother, a devout Catholic, worked in a dental office. One of his great-grandmothers was a Romanian gypsy herbalist; she grew cannabis, opium, tobacco, sage, and lavender in a backyard garden. The curtains in his grandmother's house were made of hemp. His family joked, saying, "If the house catches fire, stay inside for a while and breathe."

Short himself didn’t try marijuana until he was about 12 or 13 years old, a few years after his parents divorced. He had become clinically depressed, not eating, losing weight. Then he smoked for the first time. It took six tries before he actually felt the effect, but when he finally did, he was overwhelmed by an irresistible craving for an omelet. "That was a turning point in my life." After that, he smoked every day, hiding his joints from his mother. The weed helped him gain weight; it pulled him away from the cold and misery of Detroit. Most of the weed available at the time was low-quality, bottom-shelf Mexican cannabis, but Short used his nose for quality and moved up the ranks: whenever he encountered good weed, he always saved a bit, and if he needed to impress someone, he’d pull out his stash. He gradually found suppliers of better quality, marvels coming from "hot spots" around the globe. All of it was sativa weed, suited to thrive outdoors: Colombian Gold ("The smell was like sandalwood incense, almost like frankincense," he later wrote in his book, "and the taste was spicy cedar … truly psychedelic, potent, and long-lasting"); Oaxaca Highland Gold ("super-spicy cedar incense with a hint of fermented berry flavor"); Highland Thai ("purely cerebral, mentally devastating"); Chocolate Thai ("deep, rich, chocolate, nutty, woody/spicy"); Jamaican ("Too damned strong and fast! … It’s a herb that lifts the heart, and I have a sensitive heart. So I’m careful with samples of commercial J-ganga I try"); Black Magic African ("Truly the most devastating and consciously intoxicating herb I’ve ever smoked").

At 21, he moved to Oregon, a "fairy tale land to the west" where the decriminalization efforts of a progressive governor had formed "hippie magnetic vortices" throughout the state. He found a job as a doorman at a rock club in Eugene, lived in a series of houses with punks, and introduced the punks to his cannabis-smoking friends. He read extensively—Pynchon, Castaneda, Douglas Adams, and Jonathan Swift ("My God, he understood everything, in the 18th century"), took acid, and shed his Catholic guilt: Jesus died for someone’s sins, but not for his own. He took classes at the University of Oregon in the fall and spring, and in the summer, when the weather was hot and dry, he worked on a crew fighting forest fires while smoking staggering amounts of cannabis.

Short believed that the solution was to create a hybrid—a plant that possessed the characteristics of the best varieties but was easier to grow indoors. He began crossing different sativas and indicas. In fact, the size of his operation decreased as he improved. Part of this reduction was due to fear, the need to remain discreet—at the time, President Ronald Reagan was a staunch supporter of the war on drugs—and another part was simply that Short didn't need much equipment to produce good cannabis: just a 16-square-foot closet, a few bags of powdered bat guano for fertilizer, and his palate.

After the plants flowered, he would scrape the stems or the half-developed leaves and smell them. Sometimes, he would detect floral or fruity notes; other times, the scent of motor oil and gasoline. Once, a batch smelled of pine needles, cigarettes, alcohol, and perfume—a mix that transported him back to Christmases of his childhood in Detroit: "I pressed the bud and there was Auntie in the chair, smoking her pipe. There was Grandma preparing her pierogies." He called it "Ethnic Holiday."

Trial and error taught him which aromas were promising and which signaled danger; a skunky smell wasn't necessarily bad, while cinnamon wasn't necessarily good. (It was only recently that he began sending samples to the Werc Shop, a cannabis testing lab in California, to obtain data on the terpenes of the plants.) He selected the plants he liked, matured them, dried the buds, and smoked them for up to six months before marketing them to ensure their quality. He constantly compared his own product to the best quality in his stash, and by 1981, he believed he had created something special—a series of sativa-indica crosses that smelled of honey and berries. One of them was the famous Blueberry, which produced "a seriously narcotic and euphoric body high." Following Blueberry came Flo, a psychedelic and motivating strain. "I still don't fully understand it," Short told me. "It's a unique plant. Very long onset, very long high, but it finishes in seven weeks indoors. It's strange... If I smoke Flo and there are dirty dishes, I do the dirty dishes."

He spread some clones, and the plants quickly took root in Oregon, California, Europe, and beyond. Today, almost every variety with "blue" or "berry" in its name is either a clone or an ancestor of something that Short originally grew in his closet in Oregon. Sitting on the grass with me at Hempfest, he estimated that his plants are being grown in 60 countries now. "With every breath I take," he said, "there's someone on the planet right now who is smoking something that has passed through my hands. It's a trip. I can understand how Jerry Garcia might feel."

As a businessman, he has been significantly less successful. He made money almost exclusively by selling cannabis; he was a pot dealer, albeit an exalted one. Since 1995 or 1996, however, Short has primarily sold seeds, which is less risky but still illegal. For a time, he supplied seeds to Canadian cannabis advocate and entrepreneur Marc Emery, who was now serving a five-year sentence in a U.S. prison for selling seeds online. Currently, Short mainly works with companies targeting the European market. He is a small seller and has little control over what happens to his seeds once they leave his hands. You cannot patent a cannabis seed like you can a potato seed. He told me that he had no issue when individuals experimented with his plants, but when people spread misinformation and tried to make "too much" money off his inventions, he took steps to protect what he had built.

During our conversation about cannabis at Hempfest, Short complained about competitors selling "improved" versions of his strains. He tapped on his iPad to send me links to some of his posts on International Cannagraphic. In the first, titled "Regarding the ‘Uniqueness & Originality’ of My Work," Short stated in general terms that "my integrity means a lot to me" and that his permission was necessary for "anyone choosing to use my work for commercial purposes." The second post, "420 Words on Various Unethical Opportunists," was more specific. And also angrier.

For the record: "DJ Short" and "DJ Short's Delta-Nine Collection" are the sole owners of the names, descriptions, ancestral and parental breeding stocks, as well as the intellectual development rights of strains such as "Blueberry," "Flo" ("Flo," "Flow," "Floe," "Original Flo," etc.), "Blue Moonshine" ("Original Blue Moonshine"), "Blue Velvet," "Blue Heaven," "Purple Passion," "Blueberry Sativa" (also known as "Blue Satellite"), "Blueberry Kush," "Blueberry Kind," "Cocoa Kush," "Vanilluna," "Moonshine Rocket Fuel," "F-13," "Grape Krush," "Rosebud," "Original Blueberry," "Blueberry Bud," "True Blueberry," "Old Time Moonshine," "The Cross," "Double Cross," etc., etc., among others, and there is verifiable and documented evidence to support these claims of ownership. Unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or marketing of any of these strains, in the form of seeds, clones, or any other form, or unauthorized use of these names or strain descriptions is strictly prohibited. Offenders will ultimately be held accountable to the fullest extent of the law.

Posting a scathing letter online is probably what constitutes the "full extent of the law" for Short. Suing is complicated since he operates in a gray market. Moreover, he told me he is satisfied with the income he generates. On average, he makes $50,000 a year. "I've always been working class," he says. He pays his taxes, deducting nothing. "It's a bit lame, because what am I doing? I'm paying [the government] to come break my balls." He casually mentioned that he had been in jail a few times in his youth for "drug-related nonsense." He didn't seem bitter about it. The cops, he says, "need healing too."

A guy interrupted our conversation:

" You said you had hash?

" He was sitting next to us on the grass with a few friends. He looked to be in his early twenties. His eyes were the color of a McDonald's tomato slice. He said he could trade us some weed for some hash. Short reached into his bag and used a knife to cut a flake off a dark brown piece and passed the flake to the guy on the edge of the knife. "This is Wax," he said. "Pure BlueBerry. Enjoy."

"‘We’ll do it,’ said the guy, handing Short a small amount of weed. ‘What is it?’ asked Short, meaning what strain. I didn’t hear the whispered reply, but Short responded, ‘OK, I know that one.’ He said it was a sweet strain, packed it into a bowl, and lit it up. We both took a puff. He exhaled..."

Short commented, "These young folks today, with the butane," shifting the subject to the current trend of "dabs," hashish concentrates made by soaking the plant in butane. You light the dab with a torch, inhale the vapor, and get a quick, intense effect. This phenomenon perfectly represents the black market, which values THC at the expense of the plant's other qualities: its complexity, mystery, and longevity.

He compared this to the strains of the past, explaining that the herbs he tries to recreate were very different. While modern strains like Girl Scout Cookies boast THC levels around 21%, the strains he remembers only had 7% THC. Despite this lower percentage, those old varieties offered a clearer, deeper experience without the side effects often associated with modern high-THC cannabis. "Something else was happening," he said, emphasizing the complexity and richness of those old strains.

Short still hopes to solve this mystery, which partly explains his desire to see cannabis legalized. When I asked him how his life would change if legalization happened tomorrow, he answered without hesitation: "Research and Development. A small building, a small piece of land. I have some investors ready to support the project. And then I would start germinating seeds." He could finally experiment with his vast collection of old seeds without constantly having to monitor his competitors and the law. He could ask questions and get answers.

Short also desires legalization for another reason. So far, he has had to do all of this alone. "Forty years is a long time to be in isolation," he said. Even Willy Wonka grew tired of making chocolate by himself. With legalization, he explained, "we could conduct research that would be reviewed by the public." He could allow others to examine his work with a level of detail far beyond what he has dared to share in his book. This way, he could join a legitimate scientific community.

Short gathered his things from the grass and stood up. I offered to take him to dinner later; he recommended a bistro downtown. Around six o'clock, we met there. He sat at one of the dark wooden tables in the bistro, ordered a glass of wine, and removed his hat and sunglasses. His eyes were cobalt blue, and his ponytail was held back with two hair ties. He wore a bracelet on his left hand adorned with Navajo patterns: rain clouds, sun, corn, lightning, mountains ("for healing"), and a broken arrow ("for peace"). He had a brace around his shoulder; he explained that he had recently torn his rotator cuff while lifting a suitcase out of his car trunk. He rested his elbows on the table, leaned forward, and smiled, and suddenly DJ Short seemed like someone’s eccentric grandfather, aging and vulnerable. I asked him if he was sure he wanted this. Being profiled. I started to worry about putting him in danger of police scrutiny, lawsuits, or worse. He waved his hand dismissively. "It's a low priority," he said. "Honestly, I’m much more concerned about my competition." He explained that he had decided that participating in this article was "my dharma."

As we ate, the conversation drifted toSouth Park. Short is a big fan of the series. He asked me if I had seen the three-part episode titled "Imaginationland," where Muslim terrorists invade our collective imagination while government agents prepare an attack against them using a magical portal. In the final episode, a button is pressed, and a nuclear bomb whistles through the portal, turning everything white. "It was extremely poignant," Short said. "You know how many times I've been there? For me, they've already pressed the button."

After dessert, I paid the bill and we went outside to sit for a while on a bench in the park. Short lit his tobacco pipe. "Put that out there," he said. "Go ahead, man. If they come for me and it's all over, so be it, I don't need to hide anymore. Here’s my story, that's it." I detected no bravado, just the fundamental human desire to explain and be understood. There are no interviews for cannabis producers inFresh Air, or Rotary awards dinners. "If my life ends now, so be it," he added. "I've had a great adventure."

We had agreed to meet the next day at a Hempfest booth run by Project CBD, a group that promotes the development of new medicinal strains. I returned to my hotel, slept in, and then came back to Hempfest a little before noon. However, when I passed by the agreed-upon booth, there was no sign of Short. I wandered around for an hour without finding him.

To pass the time, I went into the large white tent and attended a panel discussion titled "The Cannabis Business: Expert Advice Before You Dive In." Two of the speakers ran dispensaries in states where medical cannabis is legal, and two were attorneys specializing in cannabis issues. Together, they painted a grim picture of what it’s like to run a transparent and legal cannabis business: banks won’t lend you money, neighbors complain, municipal officials try to zone you out of town, and the IRS challenges your deductions. And at any moment, the DEA could raid you.

My phone beeped with a text message : « Behind you. »

I turned around and saw him, sitting alone at a table at the back of the tent, dressed in a sand-colored shirt with his legs crossed. His hat obscured his face and his sunglasses hid his eyes. He had returned in a near-inconspicuous mode. I recalled something he had told me on the phone during our first conversation: "The nature of this plant, it cannot be controlled. If it has taught us anything, it’s that. It knows how to survive underground. It’s not such a big change for us to go back to this modus operandi."

He suggested we head to the Project CBD booth. I followed him, and we slumped into two folding chairs behind a table piled with copies of O'Shaughnessey, a research journal on cannabis printed on newsprint. A few minutes later, a young man approached the table. He wore a black shirt, sleek black hair, and black jeans. Upon seeing the O'Shaughnessey, he excitedly began discussing the latest scientific articles by Raphael Mechoulam, a pioneering Israeli researcher. He didn’t seem to know who Short was.

« Daniel Short », said Short, holding out his hand..

« Daniel … Oh. » The young man took a step back, then leaned forward. He almost laughed. « DJ Short. It's an honor. » He bowed to Short, then stood up straight. He showed the skin on his left hand.. « Chills. »

Short glanced at me, then back at the young man. He neither smiled nor frowned. « I'm just happy to be here », he said.

Source: HERE