WHEN THE PLUGS BECOME FAMILY: A FRIDAY NIGHT AT CRISXOTICS THAT FED THE SOUL, THE STOMACH, AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN

There’s a certain kind of Friday night that doesn’t just hit different—it redefines what “different” even means.

I wasn’t planning on making any kind of major move. Just a quick stop. In and out. Grab a little rosin from Buddah Brothers and head back home like a responsible adult… or at least whatever version of that I occasionally pretend to be.

Crisxotics was about 20 minutes from my house, but let’s be real—time works differently when you’re headed somewhere you know good energy lives. By the time I pulled up, I already knew I wasn’t just “running an errand.” I was stepping into a room where everybody knows your face, your vibe, and probably your last questionable edible decision.

Handshakes flying. “What’s up OG?” shouted like I’m some kind of local myth instead of a man with a dream. It’s not a store—it’s a reunion.

First thing I noticed? JMO from The Gas Station wasn’t at his usual post. That hit me harder than expected. He told me last time he had something for me, and now I’m walking around like a kid checking every table like, “Did I miss my present or my purpose?” Still, the night had other plans.

I made my way to Buddah Brothers—Bernie and Amy—my destination, my mission, my reason for leaving the house in the first place. I hit them with the obvious question:

“What’s up with the rosin?”

They looked at me like a man about to receive news he wasn’t emotionally prepared for.

Sold out.

Just like that. Gone.

Now I’m standing there doing mental math like: I drove here. I parked. I committed. And the universe just said, “Yeah… no rosin for you.”

I almost mourned it on the spot.

But Bernie? Bernie didn’t let the sadness sit too long. Before I could even fully spiral into disappointment, he was already moving like a man who refuses to let someone leave empty-handed. He starts digging into his own head stash like it’s not even a question.

“Don’t worry, man.”

And just like that… I was blessed.

A little over a half gram of cold cure—no charge, no hesitation, no corporate energy. Just pure community care. The kind of move you don’t forget, even when your memory is slightly compromised by the next edible.

Then he hits me with:
“Come meet somebody.”

That’s how I met Choice from Herb and Soul.

But before we even make it ten steps, we get intercepted like I’m in some kind of edible Avengers crossover episode.

Enter: Key Key.

If you know, you know.

She stops me like she’s been waiting all week for this exact moment.

“OG, I made you a gift bag.”

Now I’ve been in this game long enough to know surprises usually come with fine print. But not this time.

This was not a bag.

This was a portable festival of generosity.

Doritos. Milky Way bars. gummies, Sweet Tarts, brownies, drinks, candies, High C style juices, Fritos, infused everything—but somehow still feeling like a hug instead of a product display. And then she pulls out these peach cobbler cinnamon pie creations that should be illegal purely based on how fast they disappear.

She asked me what flavor I like. Peach? Apple? Like I had a real choice in the presence of greatness.

I said peach.

I chose correctly.

Because that pie didn’t taste like dessert—it tasted like somebody’s grandmother decided to get into culinary wizardry and bless the streets.

At that point, I’m holding more free kindness than I’ve ever seen in one place in my life.

And I still haven’t spent a dollar.

Bernie’s cold cure in one hand energy. Key Key’s infused universe in the other. And I’m thinking, this is either the best night ever or I’m already too high to understand reality.

Then comes Choice.

Herb and Soul.

And let me tell you something—this man doesn’t just cook food. He negotiates peace treaties between hunger and happiness.

Rasta pasta chicken dinner. Infused. Homemade. Soulful enough to make you reconsider every microwave meal you’ve ever trusted.

He tells me it normally goes for $11.

Then hands me one anyway.

Just… because.

At this point I’m not even sure if I’m in a vendor market or a generosity glitch in the matrix.

Now here’s the part that sticks with me the most.

I’ve got one good hand and one bad hand, and I’m trying to carry what feels like a Thanksgiving dinner, a dispensary blessing, and a dessert festival all at once back to the car without dropping anything like a rookie.

And I realize something in that moment:

I didn’t spend a single dollar.

Not one.

But I left with more than I could carry.

More than just products. More than just edibles and rosin and food.

I left with proof that community still exists in places people don’t always expect it.

Now let me be clear—I support these vendors. Always have. Always will. I’ve spent real money at Crisxotics more times than I can count. But this night? This night wasn’t about transactions.

It was about people showing love to somebody they’ve come to know as more than just a customer.

It was about Bernie and Amy making sure I didn’t leave empty-handed.
It was about Key Key showing generosity like it’s second nature.
It was about Choice feeding people like he’s been doing it his whole life for the right reasons.

And me?

I went home, ate everything (because let’s be honest—“saving edibles for later” is a myth I tell myself when I want to feel responsible), and slept so good I didn’t wake up until 4 PM the next day.

Which, for the record, is not medical advice. It’s just what happened.

So this is a thank you.

To Crisxotics—for being the hub where this kind of energy even exists.
To Buddah Brothers—Bernie and Amy—for the kindness that doesn’t come with a price tag.
To Key Key—for feeding people like love is the main ingredient.
And to Choice of Herb and Soul—for proving that a plate of food can carry as much soul as any conversation.

This isn’t just a plug scene.

It’s a family scene.

And if you’ve never been to Crisxotics on a Friday… you might think you understand what community looks like.

But trust me.

You don’t.

Not until you’ve left with both hands full, your heart fuller, and your wallet still exactly where it started.

• OG Strain