The stylist on one of my husband's shows once clued me in about Pepe's. It is the ruler of all recycled - the jester of junk. It is a thrift store deluxe, piled high from floor to ceiling with credenzas, vases, funky mirrors, old school quintuplet baby carriages, and tchotchkes galore. When my son Beckett and I entered, he was jazzed to find a rusty, old beat-up Pepsi machine. It was so old, the machine required only 15 cents. There were funky chairs, great old photographs, and a glam white laquer vanity that caught my eye. The owner told me the shop has been there 14 years. They get their things from estate sales, auctions, all over. I remember getting a bookcase and a dresser there for one of my many rent-controlled Santa Monica apartments. As we looked around I told Beckett about my parents going antiquing in New England when I was growing up. They always came home with some funky treasures - a weathered old butter churn that was in the corner of our living room in Brooklyn, next to some green glass railroad tie covers my dad collected. I could tell Beckett has the antiquing gene - he started scoping out a new desk for his bedroom. The secret the stylist had told me years ago is that other thrift shops get their stuff from Pepe's, so now you know, come to the source. It's a lot closer than the Rose Bowl. You won't be disappointed.
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