The Last Treasure Shop
Tucked away on a side street in Pleasant Hill, Missouri, there’s a little antique store that feels like a time machine — if the machine was built in 1973 and ran on polyester fumes and disco lights. The place is stacked with vinyl 45s, Schwinn bicycles with banana seats, lava lamps, ashtrays shaped like motel signs, and, most curiously, an entire shelf of vintage bowling pins that look like they’ve survived three world wars.
It’s the kind of store you wander into once out of curiosity, smile at the nostalgia, and then quietly promise yourself you’ll never come back. Not because the owner isn’t friendly — in fact, that’s the real problem. The man is too friendly. He wants to tell you the life story behind every dented pin, every scratched record, every rusted bike. You’ll hear about the kid who won a state championship with that bowling ball in 1962, or the couple who played that very record on their first date and then divorced three years later because she hated the saxophone solo.
The prices are sky high, too. That cracked Elvis Presley 45? Forty bucks. A pair of bowling shoes that still smell like 1969? Sixty-five. One old Schwinn that looks like it’s allergic to pedaling? Don’t even ask.
But here’s the thing: the store isn’t about money. The old man admits it himself — he opened the shop as a retirement gift to himself. A place to keep his hands busy and his mind occupied in the twilight of his years. His kids told him to just sit back and relax, but he knew better. If he sat down too long, life might decide to close up shop on him.
So, he keeps the doors open. Day after day. Year after year. Even though most customers don’t return, even though the bowling pins will never sell, and even though the prices scare off the serious buyers. He doesn’t care. The store isn’t really about antiques — it’s about him holding on, telling his stories, and keeping the lights on just a little longer.
One day, when he finally closes that door for good, Pleasant Hill will lose a store no one really needed, but everyone was glad existed. And maybe, just maybe, someone will miss those bowling pins.
