First time I tried growing it, the whole garage reeked like citrus and despair. I mean that in the best way? The grow was doomed from the start—bad lighting, overfed the damn things, then mildew rolled in like it owned the place. But still, this runt pulled through. Short. Dense. White like it’d been snowed on. Gave me the weirdest, most vivid dreams of my life. I swear I saw colors that don’t exist. That’s why, ever since, I only buy the best White Widow seeds — no clones, no borrowed nonsense from your cousin’s sketchy ziplock genetics. Seeds or nothing.
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