It’s 8 AM on a Friday in Boystown and 26-year-old Danielle Larsen unlocks the door of the CBD Kratom shop. She has long black hair and wears black Converse sneakers, high-waisted jeans, and a green short-sleeved polo with the shop’s logo stitched on the front. The corner storefront is drenched with sunlight, filled with the not-too-loud pulsation of a Muse song, and ready to receive its first customer.
The shop is airy, with a wood-laminate floor and high ceiling. The interior design is generally inviting, if a bit reminiscent of an artsy teenage girl’s room. There are quirky hand-painted signs (“You deserve to relax”) and drawings of human anatomical systems on black chalkboard panels. Fake plants are interspersed with real ones. Tall glass display cases ring the perimeter of the floor where much of the CBD inventory is kept under lock and key—everything from $2.95 lollipops infused with 10 mg of the compound to $59.95 “shatters,” crumbly substances with up to 1,000 mg of CBD per gram. There are vials of CBD drops to be administered under the tongue, topical creams and lip balms infused with CBD, bath bombs, chocolate, honey, and even dog treats, which are especially popular around the Fourth of July to ease the stress of fireworks for furry friends.
“Cops will come in and you can tell they’re just looking for something illegal to happen,” Petersen says. They always eye the dried flower with suspicion, but he adds that some officers are customers who bring colleagues to the shop in an attempt to educate them about CBD. Also uneducated? Reporters. A while back, they recalled, K2 (aka spice, aka spike, aka synthetic marijuana) was in the news.
