Vol 11. Edition 1
News from CannaTown
Page 11
thing bothered him: “ ese bowls hold a whole week’s smakings,” he wrote. One evening, a letter sealed by sticky, dank wax insignia, found its way to Quill’s workshop. It bore an invitation to the Grand DabberHashery Gala, a prestigious event that promised to showcase the pinnacle of hash-smakery. A hushed excitement settled in, and the Cannatown Register printed a full page ad openly inquiring whether the mysterious local icon would represent the town with an ornate reeferspiece. Quill never spoke of the Gala, but his demeanor became increasingly tense. e villagers, usually accustomed to an amiable presence, noticed a shadow in his eyes. e air in Quill's Finery crackled with an un- spoken anxiety as the artisan meticulously selected materials for his creations, getting even more cross-eyed and unhinged as he came and went from the workshed, ever searching for door-knobs and light-switch- es. His neighbors heard crashes and curses. It was clear he was nervous, and also, indubiously high. On the night of departure, a thick fog enveloped the hillside. Quill le his shop without a word. e townspeople, watching from behind curtains, couldn't shake the feeling that something ominous accompa- nied him on his journey, even more than the three-foot long club sandwich forged in the ovens of Penzacotti’s Grinder’s. e Grand DabberHashery Gala itself was a spectacle of opulence and extravagance. Towering buildings adorned with glittering lights loomed over the venue. e competi- tion was erce, with other dabberhashers showcasing the most ornate and dazzling of bongs and 5-foot steamrollers, nearly all out of reach of the commoner’s pocket and need. Each piece was beyond comparison. en came Quill. A palpable tension gripped the room. Rumors of his cra sman- ship had preceded him and now the crowd expected a piece to rival even the most ostentatious creations. Why else would he
You, the reader, like so many of us innocent CannaTown citizens, may have stumbled by the great DabberHasher Museum that sits atop Bongcaster Hill, wondering who was behind the town's rst Finery. Or maybe you've purchased gi s from the online webstore, forgetting in your haste to bat even an eye at the rich history. Most people don’t know this used to be an even grander emporium,” says tour guide Ruth Gillis the ird, as she leads people around e DabberHasher, the museum and renovated workshop now turned into a tourist destination. Five times a day, Gillis, a distant relative of the man whose stead once stood in this location, gives a tour of the grounds. Here, amidst a sea of bangers and nails, spread across recreated scenes and exhibits, visitors laud the work and impact of one eodore Quill McGill, rst known DabberHasher in CannaTown proper. McGill, better known as “Quill” to the townsfolk of the time (“the man who could roast wax with a beggar’s nail”), toiled in obscurity at his mysterious shop, Quill's Finery, in the neighborhood of Spling- ton Falls. It was tucked away on a narrow street, barely noticeable among the hustle and bustle of the quaint town. Most never even spoke to the man except to procure dabworks for special occasions such as wed- dings and circular symposiums. In those days--roughly 150 years ago--people used kni es, pieces of fruit, hollowed out quill pens (essentially feath- ers) and other crude methods to smake their satchels and oils. Other than Royals and some extremely high business folks, many of Quill’s wares were considered too special for common use -- a perception of all dabberhashers in that day. According to journals found a er his death, the whole
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