Fortuitously, I spotted a stack of crumbling issues of a publication named Physical Culture in a junk shop in Ithaca, New York.
Little parties were made up in his saloon—parties of twos and threes—to go over and have a look at the outside of the junk shop.
Where the store was, there is a junk shop now, and it is called The Die.
A low drinking saloon, feebly disguised as a junk shop, stood at the corner, with slimy green steps leading to the water.
“Oh, he means the trophies they bought at some junk shop,” said Pepper.
Reaching at last the bottom-most vault beneath the deepest hell, Gud came upon a junk shop.
You know that junk shop where we arranged to sell our stuff?
Parlors and bedrooms are full of the cheap and incongruous or expensive and harmonious belongings of a junk shop.
Without glancing toward the junk shop, they walked on to the riverfront.
The second-hand furniture store and junk shop were practically overflowing.
A shop where old discarded things and miscellaneous bits of potential trash are sold; secondhand store (1940s+)