Where will cannabis be in 30, 20, or even 10 years?

The year is 2035. You get into your self-driving Tesla car, and you put on the radio. President Trump is swearing in for yet another term….oh, wait, sorry. This isn’t the nightmare article. Let’s start again.

The year is 2035. You get into your self-driving Tesla car, and you put on the radio. Tool has finally released their next studio album. You shrug, having long since forgotten that they exist, and you tell your car to take you to Whole Foods. The coordinates are computed, and off you go.

You pull from your vape. It’s a smooth CBD e-liquid. The relaxation swells over you like a modestly warm blanket. You clasp your hands together behind your head and look out the window. There are the usual billboards—car dealerships, injury attorneys, and tanning salons. But one that still catches your eye, despite being common for years, is an advertisement for marijuana therapy.

For years now marijuana therapy has become rather normal. Treatments with low dose CBD mints all the way to stronger tinctures have helped millions with their ailments. Patients suffering from PTSD, glaucoma, cancer, anxiety, and everything in between have sought help from the natural healing powers of cannabis. Millions have found relief. That billboard may be common, but it still makes you smile.

The car comes to a stop at Whole Foods. You walk up, grab a basket, and peruse the bakery. The bread smells divine, so you grab a loaf. You dig through the mineral waters in the cooler, grab a Gerolsteiner, and stick it in your basket. Rounding the corner, you find yourself upon a mountain of cannabis. What would have shocked you 10 years ago is nothing new. You pick up a bag and give it a whiff. It’s Shiatsu Kush, a calming blend. You’ve had it before, and you liked it. Grabbing your weekly q, you head towards the checkout.

The person at the register scans the bread and the water. She then asks for your I.D. before scanning that quarter of Shiatsu Kush. You smile and hand her your license. She smiles as she hands it back. No big deal. And look at that: the kush was 50% off, making your total just shy of $20. A steal!

Getting back in your car you notice that you’re quite hungry, so you tell it to take you to the nearest Jamba Juice. Your Tesla takes the drive-thru, order a cannabis blend, and continue back home. On the way, you get a call. It’s your best friend, and they want to go to Cloud Nine, the new cannabis theme park that opened outside of town. Your mood is mellow so you agree without hesitation. A cannabis theme park? Why not.

The gates to Cloud Nine look like gigantic marijuana buds stacked on top of each other, weaving and twisting high above your head. The workers—known as Buds—all wear shades of green with khaki shorts. Tickets are just $30 for the day. You even get a card that you can stamp off when you try different edibles, liquids, and strains from their own shops on-site. Entering the park you are drawn immediately to the biggest ride, the one resting in the center of the park: it’s a roller coaster that looks like is smoke being blown out of a massive bong. You stop by a snack stand, scarf down a pretzel, and hop in line for the Mind Blower. Needless to say, your mind is blown.

Leaving the park a few hours later, you’re tired. Your car takes you home. You catch a few minutes of napping on the way, and before you know it you are safely in your driveway. Your cat meows as you enter your front door. Both of you smile, and you head to bed.

Lying in bed you flip on your iGlass, the latest in adaptive visual computing tech. You scroll through Facebook, using your fingers to swipe the air in front of you as the overlay sits in your vision. All of the ads that you see are either for Jamba Juice, Whole Foods, or any number of local bud shops. You smile despite being creeped out that Facebook has gotten so quick at pegging your interests. Whatever, you think, switching off your iGlass. Time to roll over, close those eyes, and enter a world of green dreams.