You're looking at one of the many "shops" in Barbra Streisand's basement, where she keeps an empty mall's worth of furniture, shoes, clothes, dolls, and more in a nightmarish limbo where they'll never be used, sold, or appreciated.
So, like any other mall, really.
"I have a lot of stuff, and instead of storing it just in a basement, why not make a street of shops that would house these things?" Streisand said, as somewhere in America a child starved to death.
"Bee's Doll Shop: for when torturing your kids with Christmas coal just isn't enough."
Streisand Avenue Mall gets creepier the longer you gaze upon it, as your mind slowly begins to wrap itself around the bizarre artificiality of what it's witnessing. At best, it's a Scooby-Doo ghost town. At worst, a maniac driving a cursed floor polisher has mowed down panicked teenagers within these halls. An announcement plays over the public address system, advertising a sale that will never actually come to this mocking simulacrum of commerce. Then it announces a time of death.
"Attention shoppers, all hope will fade in 15 minutes.
Please make your final purchase and will and testament."