You stand at the back of the old antique shop, as you do every Monday morning. The store is both your dream and your nightmare, filled with overpriced toys for you to impulsively waste your pitiful wages on. You briefly wonder how you're going to pay your rent this month, but you push the thought to the back of your head as you grab more assorted junk from the shelf and stuff them into a carrier bag already bulging with various knick-knacks you have no intention of ever using. Of course, you'd always find a way to justify your purchases; those $50 figurines were sure to increase in value at some point, that $40 painting kit would be great once you discover your hidden artistic talents, and the $300 broken chainsaw would be vital when the apocalypse came.

Just as you find yourself unable to carry anymore, you notice that there's something in the corner of the shop that isn't covered in dust.