It wasn't the Magic Box, and it was. Oz recognized the storefront well enough to give it a try when his supplies ran low, since the list of supplies he used to help him keep the wolf at bay wasn't exactly found on drugstore shelves. Typically the herbs he needed were hard-to-find, some of them potentially lethal if used incorrectly. If he wasn't careful about explaining himself, the shopping list didn't cast him in a positive light.
When he pushed his way through the shop door, he fit the passing interest customer a little too perfectly: the closely cropped red hair, the rocker's fingernails, the faded Boston (the band, not the city) t-shirt, the loose jeans, the worn tennis shoes. He even wore a few thin bracelets on one wrist and a jade ring on his right hand. Oz was comfortable in his skin, though, and his easy "Hey" to the proprietor was more friendly than that of one of those tourist types.