The slightly rusted doorbell rings with a clink-clank. As you step into the dim shop, the scent of sweet foreign incense and American Spirit smoke brushes against your nose. Behind the rows of crowded, multi-colored vintage clothes, a man looks up from the checkout counter. He wears baggy ethnic clothes and an eyepatch covering one eye. With an unlit cigarette in his mouth, he continues to meticulously stitch up a fray on a shirt.