The shop is small, hunched in an alley. You would miss it if you didn't know it was there, or if it didn't happen to catch your eye as you bustled past the alley on the way to somewhere else. A small sign creaks above the door, barely holding on to the metal post it is secured to, and the name of the shop. It's faded letters proclaim it "Night Traders". And, as the name implies, they are only open at night. During the day very little can be seen through the window. What can be made out is dusty and worn.

But at night, the light that emanates from the interior is warm. That glow saturates everything inside, and gives everything a cared for appearance, rather than worn.

The door seems to open of its own accord, and beacons you inside. The ceiling is low, but the length of the store belies how tiny it looks on the outside.

The walls are packed with things, all manner of things. Furniture, from all ages that no one could ever picture in their home until it is placed there. Art, glassware, knick knacks, all the usual things you expect from an antique shop. But, these things all have stories, some more fantastical than others. And, if you find the right thing, the thing meant for you, the shop keeper, as hunched and small as the outside of the shop, but with eyes as warm as the night time window, will tell you that story.

It was here that I found myself, looking desperately for my story.