JACKHERERSEEDSBANK

There's this weirdly piney tang to it. Not citrus, not mint, something in between toothpaste and fresh-cut lumber? My ex compared the smell to “rain inside a metal pipe,” which—sure—makes no sense and yet captures it perfectly. Smells intelligent, if that's a thing? Hits your tongue and pins you to the present whether you like it or not. Lingers in your nose. Like incense and intention. You know what I mean. This is the kind of strain you spark when you’ve got a mess spread out on your desk and a half-pound of pressure to make something out of it. If it gives you half the edge it gives me, then hell yes, go ahead and order Jack Herer seeds today before you start regretting all the brain fog nonsense.