We’ve all been there. A 7/11 parking lot, late at night, where every Slurpee-buying shopper looks like an undercover cop. Or you’ve just parked your buddy’s car near an apartment downtown where all the neighbors know why you’re walking towards that particular door.

Or worse, a friend of a friend who just got out of jail has some killer stuff that will make the whole crosstown drive worth it.

You name it — we all have a variety of reasons why we will go the extra mile to procure the best stuff possible, sometimes even when the risks are higher than you are.

Now, my closest dispensary is eight blocks away — a small industrial trailer where they may only have seven to 12 different varieties of medical marijuana — but I go to the old reliable, my mainstay downtown on Geary. (Funny story: I was on my way home on the bus with three clones in an odorless paper bag. There were two other dudes on the bus who were also clutching paper bags. Their all-knowing nods and smiles made me feel like we all belong to the same book club.)

Going to a dispensary is incredibly safe compared to my almost 40 years of scoring on the street.