The idea started as a joke.

“What if,” Molly Gunn said, twirling in the middle of the thrift store aisle, “we opened our own place? But better. More dramatic. With better lighting.”

You laughed. “Molly, you once bought a feather boa instead of groceries.”

“Exactly,” she replied. “Vision.”

Somehow, the joke turned into a lease. A tiny storefront with a crooked sign and a squeaky door. You handled the paperwork. Molly handled… everything else.

She curated outfits like art installations—sequins next to denim, ball gowns beside band tees. Every item had a story, whether it actually did or not.

“This jacket,” she told a customer solemnly, “was worn by someone who absolutely fell in love and survived it.”