I remember the first time my mom took me to a thrift store 30 years ago. I was 9 years old and in the awkward preteen stage, with too large of teeth and stringy hair. My mother was thrifty, and we usually walked to the local grocery store, dragging a folding metal cart behind us stuffed with brown bags brimming with the week’s food. There was a pharmacy nearby with an old-fashioned lunch counter, and, (if I behaved), I would be able to get a grilled cheese and Coke.
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