XenoKnowsALL

Born with nothing but hunger and hurt, a 40-year-old soul is reborn in the body of a homeless Brooklyn stoner—and gifted with the divine ability to grow perfect cannabis in seven days. But instead of chasing hype, he builds a sacred legacy from the dirt: weed with intention, healing with fire, and culture with care.

Alongside Maya, a visionary artist, they transform their struggle into a global movement—From the Dirt—expanding across dispensaries, fashion, food, education, and spiritual growth.

From rooftops to rituals, from corner stores to cathedrals, this is a story of grief, glory, grind, and grace.

Because some things aren’t grown.
They’re remembered.

From the Dirt: Bloom Anyway

The air felt heavier that morning.

Darius stood outside the old laundromat, hoodie pulled up, duffel bag in hand. Maya was beside him in a denim jacket and kicks that had seen better days, holding a manila folder full of paperwork.

Inside the folder?Their CAURD license approval.A mockup of their future storefront.And a certified bank statement showing a hard-earned $30,000 in liquid cash.

"You sure he's gonna sell?" Maya asked.

"Everyone has a price," Darius said. "Even old heads who think they sitting on nothin'."

The building owner, Mr. Louis, was a retired Haitian man in his late 60s, with deep laugh lines and a heavy limp. He used to live upstairs when the laundromat was popping back in the '90s.

Now? He just collected rent from whoever could pay on time and didn't cause noise.

The office smelled like dust and wood polish. Old receipts lined the walls. A vintage photo of Brooklyn from the '80s sat in a cracked frame behind his desk.

"We the business owners," Darius said coolly.

Mr. Louis raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue.

Maya stepped forward, sliding the CAURD approval across the table.

He stared at the paper, then at the two of them.Folded his hands. Took a slow breath.

"You know this neighborhood's changing. Fast. Someone else offered me $300k for the whole lot last month. Condo people."

"They want to tear it down," Maya said. "We want to build it up."

Darius set the duffel on the table and unzipped it—neatly stacked banded bills.

"$30,000 cash today to start. We take over taxes. Renovation. All of it. You give us one year to fully buy it out. No games."

"You got that kinda money selling joints?"

After an hour of back-and-forth, some real talk about legacy, respect, and "keeping the soul in the soil," Mr. Louis finally nodded.

"Alright. You got yourself a deal. One year. You miss a payment, it's mine again. But if you keep up? I sign it over."

By nightfall, Darius and Maya were back at the laundromat—now their laundromat.

She leaned against the wall, eyes wide.

He looked around, imagining the floor polished, the walls painted, display counters under warm light. A storefront with their logo on the window:

FROM THE DIRTLocally Grown. Locally Owned.

"No more hiding," he said. "This place ain't just a grow anymore. It's a statement."

She smiled. "You know what comes next, right?"

And as Darius opened the back room and checked on the last of the Empire Poison cure jars, he knew this wasn't just about weed anymore.

It was about roots.

And he was finally planting his in real ground.

Chapter Fifteen – Bricks & Ownership