The bell above Ophelia’s Oddities rang pleasantly as James Sloan, drenched in from the sudden rain, stepped out of the chill autumn evening in to the warm little thrift store. James had passed by the little shop nearly every day for the past year and had never once considered stopping inside and now he was kicking himself for that.
The thrift shop was a maze of narrow aisles of shelves loaded with odds and ends, trinkets and junk, that were displayed around the shop with no rhyme or reason to their order. It was rather fascinating in the most chaotic sense of the word.
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