Locals Night, the Kimball Arts Fest. I was walking up Main with my friend Portia and wanted to show her my favorite Park City vintage boutique. I turned into the doorway and practically skipped up the steps, thrilled to introduce another friend to the wonders that lay within.

At the top of the steps, I turned to peer inside. It was empty.

Gone were the racks of Bogner ski suits, cashmere sweaters, sequin jackets, lace slips, fur coats and fringe vests, arranged in rainbow order with handwritten tags like “GOLDEN GIRL VIBES!” or “MAGNIFICENT, GLAMOUROUS MATADOR!” Gone, too, were the trunks and display cases overflowing with silk scarves, studded belts, beaded bags, embroidered travel patches, strands of rhinestones and pearls. And the cubbies full of cowboy boots, cowboy hats, cowboy belt

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