He walked around the range, clicking the dials. They snapped into place with a satisfying, mechanical clack . "I usually only take stainless steel these days," Bernie lied. "People want the modern look."
"But," Bernie added quickly, "there’s a collector downtown looking for this exact shade of 'ugly.' I can give you three hundred for it. Cash. Right now."
He wasn’t just buying used appliances; he was a curator of second acts. He’d polish the chrome, fix the pilot light, and wait. Somewhere out there, someone was looking for a piece of the past they thought was lost forever. And Bernie would be there to sell it back to them, one refurbished memory at a time.