The new sex shops. The old ones were frequented by old men in turned up trench coats and fedoras.
The weird thing is that there is one sex shop in town that looks like it hasn’t changed its inventory since the Rat Pack. In fact, it looks like it was designed by Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra. I’m not even sure that they upgraded their 8mm stag films to VHS yet. It is the “go to” place for crude postcards and “chicken inspector” badges.
And yet somehow they still continue. It’s like visiting a sex shop museum. A friend speculated that some rich old deviant died and left it in his will, that his inheritors will only have access to millions of dollars as long as they keep the sex shop open.
Most potential customers walk through the door, look around puzzled, then leave. They may not even have money in the cash register.