The sky opens and rain comes down. To escape I walk into a dimly lit old building, “arcade” in neon lights.
I hear the sound of quarters pounding out of a change machine. Quarters against other quarters. The sound of plastic being pressed and mashed against other plastic. A wooden ball gliding up a wooden ramp and into a hole.
The arcade is filled with flashing lights. A small boy runs past dropping loose change like breadcrumbs. A teenager comes waddling past with a grimace on his face, the weight in his apron pounding against his knees. An older man sits on a bench in the corner, reading a newspaper as his daughter tugs on his shirt.
The scent of popcorn and candy fill the air. Soda spilled on the carpet smells of sugar coated moth balls. A woman, uncertain in her stance, smells of lilacs.
Touching the joystick, memories to flood in. Down, down-right, forward, punch. Hadouken. The buttons are sticking to the frame. The joystick loose in its socket. The boy to my right holds tightly onto his. His tongue sticking out slightly against his lips. I can feel his concentration. Mashing the white buttons. Forward, down-forward, down, down-back, back, kick.
He slams his hand against the table. Looks at me with eyes ablaze. Drops another quarter in the machine. Metal against metal. I nod. He continues.
Down, down right, forward,
punch and hadouken,
it’s your end, my beginning.