Mad Hatter

There's a store on Main Street no one ever enters. A store with an odd theme and a funny name. A senile shopkeeper and a billion hats. Vintage bowlers, neon fedoras, sailor caps and Derby kitsch. Logically, there must be a clientele in order for the shop to have survived this long, yet no one mentions the store. No one glances in, references the odd shop window or even questions it's existence. An apparent anomaly. Survives despite neglect, receives continual neglect out of habit. To walk in would break some unspoken rule.

But Dre and I did. A rather Breakfast at Tiffany's day. And I've got to say, it is now my mission to make sure every last soul that walks the streets of Lexington ventures into that shop even if just to shake the hand of the crazy old man dedicated enough to own and run a hat store.

The aftermath: