I wasn’t planning on stopping by the thrift store that day. My wife had sent me out for a simple floor lamp—nothing fancy, just enough to stop the living room from feeling like a cave. It was one of those lazy Saturdays, the kind where you pretend to run errands while really avoiding everything waiting for you at home. I slipped into the old Red Barn Thrift mostly out of habit—you never know when you’ll stumble across a stack of records or a half-decent coffee table.
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