A third: appearance of some dispensaries, like those with neon pot plants, plastic aliens in the window and Pink Floyd posters. Another: ads for slick deals, like "Free med grab bag for the first 100 patients".) Says one higher end owner:

"A doctor wouldn't offer, 'Buy one Vicodin, get one free,'" she says. "It turns my stomach."

The "stoners" respond to the wellness folks: "Mellow out" and "It's a business."

The stoners need to sober up a bit. Comments like these are what the DEA is looking for to justify shutting down some dispensaries as being outside the arbitary and vague enforcement language in the supposedly "hands-off" DOJ memo. Examples:

"This is a simple business. Get them in and out, like a gas station," Ms. Macauley says, nibbling on Doritos. "I just want to make my money."

Across town at the Denver Marijuana Medical Center, a bare-bones shop with a three-foot-high plastic alien in the window, owner Julian Sanchez is equally dismissive of attempts to pretty up the industry. "They're not doctors. They're people selling marijuana," he says. "It's all a money game."

If I had to guess which ones will still be in business in a year, given the language in the DOJ memo, I'd predict it will be these two:

Determined to show there's a classier way, Ms. James and her husband run the Apothecary of Colorado in a gentrified building with exposed-brick walls, airy views and unimpeachable fellow tenants—architects, software engineers, wind-energy consultants. The bud bar is lined with live cannabis plants, and a gourmet goodie-shop stocks medicinal banana-nut bread and organic-vegan-gluten-free granola.

A couple blocks away, Shawna Brown creates a similar mood at Lotus Medical, an elegant space with muted lighting, antique furniture, massage tables and a Zen garden. This, she says, is the true face of medical marijuana: dignified care for patients with AIDS, cancer or other chronic illnesses.