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<<Drive down Seattle's Rainier Avenue South and you'll see the green crosses, one after another. Some dispensaries are clean and well-lit. Others are dingy, with homemade signs out front.

The people behind the counter often don't fit the image of a pharmacist who can answer questions for an elderly cancer patient. On a recent visit, one "budtender" looked barely 20.

"We have the best stuff," a clerk at another dispensary explained. "You won't be disappointed."

A third, which bills itself as the "home of gourmedibles," runs customers through a metal detector.

At a fourth, a skinny young man who looked like a teenager was buzzed into the marijuana room. (Absent regulation, there is no age limit.) He walked out about a minute later, bag in hand.>>
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