When I was in college, I had a buddy who would get in his car with a mission to hit as many garage sales and flea markets as he could reach while still making it back to Stillwater in time for his Monday morning classes. He would return with a trunk full of worn out looking clothes that he had paid almost nothing to acquire, and in some cases were just given to him. At the time, I just assumed he was a pack rat, or considering he was an art major, someone who was going to make some weird sculpture out of scrap cotton and polyester.
Since he dropped out of school when I was a sophomore, I lost touch with him until I bumped into him while getting my wife an Orange Julius at Quail Springs Mall. He was standing outside the vintage clothing store he had just opened. Curious, I walked inside and realized that all the merchandise he was selling came from trips like those weekend adventures he went on while at OSU. Even more, I realized he was making a killing. Shirts and pants he had acquired for pennies were going for no less than $30 a pop and most of it was far more expensive. The art major had come up with a great business model in which every sale was almost entirely profit.
Sam Presti makes me think of this guy a lot.