When I lived in Los Angeles, I liked to shop at a second-hand clothing store on Beverly Boulevard. The place was crammed with stuff — some of it cast-offs from studio costume departments, some of it sold by actors who booked one job, spent it all on new clothes, and then never worked again. The place had the distinctly Hollywood combination of optimistic overspending and the penny-pinching of broken dreams.

In other words, you could find some great stuff in there.