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It is three in the morning, and I have just created a Google account for the first time in my life, solely to write this review. That alone should tell you something. I couldn't say exactly what pulled me down that stairwell earlier tonight; I had no real plan beyond browsing. I could scarcely tell one product from another, yet Elise walked me through the shop's entire range, flower, edibles, concentrates, with a fearless, almost encyclopedic command that suggested a decade of practice rather than a job barely begun. Half in jest, I asked how long she had actually worked there. As it turns out, not even a week. I laughed out loud; nothing about the composure with which she handled my thirteen questions betrayed how recently she had started.
The shop itself deserves its own praise: tucked discreetly below street level, appointed with a taste that never goes out of style, and priced fairly enough that loyalty feels rewarded rather than punished. One gets the sense that whoever runs this place minds the details. But it was Elise who ensured this small excursion would still be occupying my thoughts at three in the morning, rather than dissolving into a vague, pleasant memory by the next day. I can only hope she remains behind that counter the next time I descend those stairs.
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